


Angels and Demons

by Ottertale



Category: Dark Angel (TV), Doctor Who, Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Adult Dean Winchester, Adult Sam Winchester, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angel Dean Winchester, Angels, Angels (Supernatural) Have Visible Wings, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Apocalypse, Archangel Gabriel (Supernatural), Archangels, Bobby Singer's House, Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester is Sam Winchester's Parent, Dean Winchester-centric, Dean is a Nephilim, Dean!Angel, Demon Blood, Demons, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family, Family Drama, Family Feels, Family Secrets, Fire Powers, Free Will, Gen, Ghosts, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Michael Possessing Dean Winchester, Monster Hunters, Nephilim, Parental Bobby Singer, Post-Season/Series 01 Finale, Pre-Season/Series 01, Protective Bobby Singer, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Season/Series 15, Sword of Michael (Supernatural), Team Free Will, Team Free Will (Supernatural), Team Free Will 2.0 (Supernatural), Vampires, Werewolves, Winged Dean Winchester, Winged Sam Winchester, Wings, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester, angel!dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2019-12-30 00:40:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 43
Words: 51,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18304691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ottertale/pseuds/Ottertale
Summary: The Prince of Hell and the Michael Sword born for the fated fight that would start and end the apocalypse. Unlike other vessels there were only ever two beings that could house the power of the archangels, Michael and Lucifer. Fate had specified the vessels. They had to be nonhuman brothers; one born of heaven and the other of hell.





	1. Monster

“Daddy? Are there good monsters?” The little boy with the wide emerald eyes asks from the backseat of the black impala. He clutches his baby brother to his chest which was a feat in itself since the baby was nearly as big as the five year old. His grip was tight after all Daddy had forgotten the car seat and he doesn’t want his Sammy getting hurt since the seat belt was too big for the baby.  
“What did I tell you boy?” growled the man in the driver seat pressing down harder on the gas. John cold dark eyes refusing to glance into the review mirror to meet those green eyes that were the exact duplicates of his beloved wife, murdered wife. They would only increase his pain and even thinking about it caused the accelerator to climb to ninety.  
“Da-Sir, Are there good monsters?” Dean asked again shivering slightly at the chilly night air in the old classic car and hugging his brother closer.  
“No,” snapped John. It had been a long night he was hungry but had spent the last of the cash on gas and beer. Hunting he had quickly discovered was not a profitable business especially when he had to lug around two useless kids. The only thing they would be good for in the business was monster bait at this point. Only Mary’s scowling face in his memory had stopped him quickly along that line of thought. That didn’t mean the brats weren’t going to be letting him to all the work. He would train them. After all it was there mother who had died. It was their quest as a family to bring the SOB, who had done this to his beautiful Mary, to justice, preferably with a chainsaw That thought brought a half smile to the grizzled man’s face.  
“But what about Easter Bunny and Santa? Sir.” Dean continued. Apparently the boy had not gotten the hint to drop the topic. Why was this so important to the boy? Monsters were monsters. There was human and then there was monsters. Black and white. They were the things that ended his life and happiness. All that was left was revenge.  
“They don’t exist. You’re too old to believe in such things.” John finally glanced back expecting to see the brat eyes welling with tears. He had made the boy soft by babying him too long. However there was no tears when John glanced back. Surprised he thought that maybe the boy had finally grown a spine. But his good mood was short lived as the questions continued. Where in the world was the boy going with this? The year after … the boy hadn’t spoken at all. It wasn’t until recently the boy had started speaking again and this was the most chatty the kid had been since that time John had been so drunk he had forgotten Sam in the motel. That had made the boy squawk.  
“How about Angels?” The boy glanced down not looking at John whispering “Mommy said they protect me and Sammy. They good? Sir?” The little boy’s fingers twisted nervously in Sammy’s food stained shirt.  
“If angels exist they didn’t protect your mother did they? You better get it through your thick skull boy. If it non-human it’s a monster,” glared John finger tightening on the steering wheel. Knuckles white. It was too late for this crap. “And what do we do with monster’s boy?”  
“Hunt them sir,” Dean answered. He didn’t want daddy to start yelling again. It always made him scared and Sammy started yelling. Sometimes daddy would then grab his arm too hard and he would get a boo-boo and he would start crying and daddy would call him a baby too. Dean didn’t want to be a baby. He was scared though if all monsters were bad and Dad had to hunt them that made him want to cry. But he wasn’t a baby. He was a little monster and he was scared so he tucked his little wings closer to his back.


	2. Free Falling

Dean didn’t know why he had soft feathers rustling against his back. He tried to be a good monster. Thinking if he did everything his father told him maybe he could be good. He was a big boy now at eight he took care of Sammy and food when his father wasn’t home. His father had even started training him to start hunting. He had learned how to do a “sit up” and “push –up” and he knew salt should go in the door and lot of other big boy stuff. Mommy had known about the feathers. He had thought Daddy had too but now he wasn’t so sure. He was scared his father would not love him anymore if he saw. So he made sure to change in the bathroom and wear extra big shirts. When he had felt brave enough to peek at them in the mirror one time, he had discovered that they were attached to the length of his shoulder blade. They were small which made them easy to hide. Much too small to fly. If he had been older, he would have noticed that flight would be impossible at the moment even if they were larger since they were made up of soft downy puffs and the necessary primary flight feathers had not yet grown in. His wings were pearly white with electric blue ridges as if the feather tips had been dipped in lightning. Dean would have been mortified if he understood why his mommy use to call him her cute chubby cherub. He was just pulling his socks on in the motel room bed he shared with Sammy so he could pad across the cold floor to the bathroom when Sammy went crazy throwing the covers back wildly and yelling nonsense. The four year had been sleeping peacefully only seconds ago and the sudden explosion nearly closed Dean to wobble off the side of the bed.   
“Sammy, it just a dream,” Dean pointed out trying to calm his little brother. “See you ‘re awake now.” He poked Sam in the chest with one finger to prove his point. Normally this would start a tussle between the two brothers but instead brown puppy eyes locked on Dean.   
“I don’t want to train outside today, it’s cold” pouted Sammy. Dean rolled his eyes sliding off the bed and headed toward the bathroom before Sammy could claim it.   
“It’s been sunny all week and hot. Besides you know when Dad not here we have to train inside the motel room anyway,” Dean pointed out.   
For breakfast the food was almost gone John had left the boys almost no money and less food. He had left Friday. It was now Sunday. Dean had rationed as best he could for an eight year old. He stared sadly at the small box of Lucky Charms that was the last item in the cabinets. He hoped Dad would be back before dinner or he would have to adventure outside to look through the trash again or try to steal some retables from the neibor garden and Dad would be really mad if he left the motel especially if he left Sammy alone. His stomach growled.   
“I’m hungery,” Sammy called form the table head support by his hand’s elbows on the table puppy eyes locked on the box in Dean hand. Signing Dean poured the cereal into a bowl for Sammy. There was barely enough for one person much less two and Dean was trying to be good. Besides he hated when Sammy was sad. “Dean no eat?” question Sammy cheeks full of cereal.   
“Lucky charms are for little kids,” huffed Dean sticking out his chest to show Sammy that he was a big boy.  
The room rattled as the door slammed open. Dean finger loosened on the cool metal of the shotgun when he realized it was there father. Maybe he would have brought more food?  
“Boys time to get off your lazy asses and train,” snapped John. Dean could smell the alcohol as it wafted from the door.   
“De, I don’t want to go outside,” Sammy whispers in Dean ear in the back seat of the Impala as the car bumps roughly over another pot hole.  
“Shhh Sammy,” hisses Dean. He was trying to memorize the street signs as they zoom by. Dad had left a duffle at the motel meaning he was planning to return. Left, left right passed the little stream another left…. Unfortunately Sammy was still getting the hang of whispering.  
“Winchesters are tough. If you boys are going to be living under my roof you are going to need to learn how to hunt and the first step was to be able to survive.” The car had entered a dirt path that didn’t do the classic car suspension any favors. Thickening trees started to block out the sky until the car had entered into deep woods. A few minutes later the car came to a sudden halt.   
“Get out,” snarled John. The boys quickly obeyed. John grabbed two pieces of black fabric from the passenger seat and a small shot gun. “Come here.” Dean approached nervously followed slowly by Sam. A large hand engulfed Dean’s small shoulder dragging him the last few steps to stand in front of this father. He hoped Dad would not feel the bulges on his back. John gave no sign he did he just tied the fabric roughly over Deans eyes. “now don’t take the bind fold off, boy.” Dean didn’t dare try to take it off but he was very careful to count his steps and remember the changes in direction as Dad marched them into the woods by their arms. The march came to a sudden halt an hour later or so. Dean eye flew open as the blind fold was roughly removed but the quickly shut when his eyes couldn’t stand the sudden intake in light. John shoved the shot gun into Dean’s arms. Then he turned his back on his sons and started marching away calling over his shoulder as he went “you wait till I’m out of sight then find your way back to the car. You better be back before the sun goes down or I’m heading back to the motel and you’ll have to walk there too. And I’ll beat your ass if you try to follow me back.”  
Dad was abandoning him? And Sammy? How… how could he do that? First mom left him now dad was leaving him. Dean’s heart squeezed in his chest and he blinked harder as his vision grew burry. No Dad wasn’t leaving him he just wanted Dean and Sammy to be strong. Dean was a big boy he would find his way back. He would be the best hunter and dad would still love him and not leave him again. Dean waited until his father was out of sight than hurried in the direction he remembered walking in retracing his blindfolded steps. Sammy’s little hand curled around Dean. Under normal circumstances Dean would have told him to let go Sammy was giving him baby coodies but at the moment he was grateful for the contact. It allowed him to keep track of Sammy while keeping most of his attention on trying to remember his steps. He glanced up at the sky notice the position of the sun in the sky. They passed a stream but it was down a rather steep incline and lots and lots of trees. After 30 minutes of walking Dean’s little 8-year-old legs were tired and the shot gun felt like a ton of concreate in his fist. Sammy had had enough,  
“I’m tired,” whined Sam. So was Dean but it was getting dark and Sammy’s legs were much shorter than his big brother’s. The air was growing murky as dust set in and while there was still plenty of light to see by it wouldn’t last long.  
“Don’t be a girl. We have to keep going,” This apparently wasn’t the right approach because little Sammy had had enough. Crossing his pudgy fists across his chest he plopped down on the dirt a pout like an oncoming train combined with puppy eyes. Dean was doomed.   
“No! I no walk no more.” Dean placed the shotgun on the ground. Dad would be furious but it was making his arm go numb and if he had to carry one thing back to the motel it was going to be his brother.  
“Sam, we have to get back to Dad,” argued Dean kneeling in front of Sammy. It felt so good to sit down for a moment.  
“NO!” yelled Sammy puppy eyes turning into a glare “Daddy mean. I don’t want to go back!” Dean glared back at Sammy this time. How could Sammy say something like that about their Dad?  
“Sammy dad loves you. We have to go back. We’re family we have to stay together.” Dean sat in front of Sam pulling his arms around his neck. Doing his best to give Sam a piggy back ride. Sam was just too small to understand. When he was older he would get it. Family was supposed to stay together.   
Normally, Dean would have freak out if Sammy touched his back. What if he felt the inhuman lumps beneath his shirt? Luckily Sam was too exhausted to do anything but lock his little hands around Dean’s neck. Besides Dean’s jacket two sizes too big and bunched weirdly on its own. Dean glanced one last time at the shot gun as he started walking but as it was, he could barely carry the four-year-old. A sharp tug on Dean’s ear stopped the trudge a few minutes later.   
“Not that way,” Sam ordered. Dean frowned, hefting Sammy up again his legs hurt from walking and Sammy’s weight was crushing his wings. It was nearly completely dark and he could barely see anything at all. Please don’t leave us daddy.   
“Sam that’s the way back,” Dean stated continuing forward as best as he could.   
“We were here before,” argued Sam. Dean has a moment of panic. Has he been walking in a circle? But no there was an odd-looking rock formation that looks like a frog he would have remembered that.  
“No, we haven’t.” Dean glances over his shoulder to glare at his brother to show him whose knows best and winds up nearly dropping him instead. For a moment, just a moment Dean might have sworn hazel eyes are highlighted with ruby red that reflex like those of a cat’s in the dim light but then he blinks and hazel eyes blink back. No. Dean’s the freak. Not Sam. Never Sammy.   
Dean took another heavy step; leaves crunching under his small sneakers. The warm summer air decided to take a noise dive following the sun below the horizon. A small cloud puffed out in front of Dean’s face as Sam exhaled on Dean’s shoulder.  
“Cold De,” whimpered Sammy “Just like my dream.” The little arms around his neck as Sam fought to be let down. Sam managed to get both feet on the ground and both his little hands wrapped around Dean’s. Sam leaned at a 45 degree angle trying to pull the larger boy in the opposite direction.   
An inky shadow slipped between the underbrush toward the children unnoticed. The soft pad of paws on the hard earth was but a whisper. The midnight fur was only broken by two yellow stars that are the beast’s eyes and they are fix intently on its prey. It snuffles as the cool night breeze blows the boys scents closer. One reminds him of home, he smells of raw power, fire and blood. The second scent his less pleasant to the beast he smells of rainstorms, open skies and small fluttering things. Pointed ears swivel back and lips pull back revealing yellow canines and a low growl resonates. His prey freezes. Searching the darkness for it. The small one eyes gleam with reflexed fire and he points. The hound has lost the element of surprise but it was no matter. The children turn to run and it lunges. He keeps up at a lazy trot teasingly snapping at their heels enjoying their fear. Playing with its food was such fun. They near the edge of his territory, bordered by a midsized ravine and it knows the hunt has come to an end. Jaws lunge for the small one’s throat but close around the large one’s upper arm.   
Salt tears run down Sam cheek as he screams as the wolf latches on to Dean’s arm. The huge rectangular head shakes the boy side to side. Dean had spun Sam out of the jaws path but had got bitten in the process. The four-year-old balls his tiny fists and does the only thing a four-year-old knows how to do in the face of danger. He screams.  
“Let De go!” Hazel bleeds to ruby. The effect was immediate. The dog whines as if it had been struck and drops Dean as if he had just been scolded for chewing on a favorite shoe. But the black dog recovers quickly its hatred turning to the four-year-old. It steps forward pushing little Sam closer and closer to the rock cliff behind the child. Sam was trapped and the dog knows it. It snarls drool and blood drip from it muzzle. Sam’s heels cause rocks to tumble over the drop. He can see tops of trees below him. It was a long, long way down.   
Dean’s arm felt like it was on fire. A terrified scream ripped through the air and then all Dean knew was the dog was leaping toward Sammy. Dean didn’t think. Ripping off his coat he threw it at the dog and then tackled Sammy off the side of the cliff. Wings spreading for the first time desperately scooping air. The dog missed Sam jaws snapping closed with a mouthful of feathers. A gun shot sounded. Dean barely heard the explosion of sound or the pain of the plucked feathers. Whether it was because his wings were too small or the loss of feathers or simply the strain of carrying two people it was too much. His wings flapped uselessly as the boys plummeted.   
Dean’s killed Sammy. The older boy clutches his younger brother to his chest wrapping his body around the younger boy to try and protect him as they drop. It not going to make the difference. Even using his body as a cushion, they are too high. He thought he could fly. Thought he could save Sammy. He was wrong. He still has his wings out but they are made of baby down not flight feather and the wind whips at them ripping feathers out and causing the boys to tumble wildly. Sorry Sammy. Dean squeezes his eyes closed hugging Sammy tight. A sharp pressure grasps Dean on the upper arm halting the free fall. Green eyes snap open to a flurry of massive raven feathers that block out the stars. Royal blue eyes bore into the boy’s soul as the children are pulled to the safety of the man’s arms; cradled against his chest. Sam’s eyes are still shut tight not opening from the moment the wolf lunged for him.   
“Are you going to take us to Mommy?” asked Dean. Dying hurt less than he thought. The angel tilted it head to the side slightly as if puzzled.  
“No, Heaven has work for you, Dean Winchester.” Placing to fingers on the boys forehead Castiel sent the boy to a peaceful sleep. Even in sleep Dean’s arms wrapped protectively around his little brother. Great midnight wings flex effortlessly downward sending the trio towards the stars. He sours soundlessly over the tree tops until he spots the Impala. A car that he has watched from a distance for years. Tucking his wings slightly he flutters down gently phasing through the cars roof. He lays the boys softly on the back seat. A small smile graces the angel’s face as he pulls a worn blanket over the brothers to keep them warm. He has watched over the brothers since before they were born but this was the first time he had interacted with them or for that matter the humans in thousands of years. And while Heaven may have plans for Dean Winchester he was just a child. At the moment, not a weapon to be wielded, but an innocent soul to be protected. His gaze fell on the smaller child. He frowns. The aura coming from the younger brother made his grace shiver. John Winchester soul was growing closer and Castiel took this as his cue to depart. The Winchesters were once again a lone in the dark.


	3. Raven Wings

Castiel returned to Heaven to pray and mediate for guidance. It had been along time since he had heard his Father’s voice and he hoped to receive his word. Angels are not like humans in the fundamental sense. The difference is an angel’s grace. The angel’s grace can possess a human if given permission and then it manifests itself as wings due to human perception of what an angel should look like. The wings are unique to the angel. Castiel are the glossy black of a raven. It is a lose rule that angel wings correspond to those of natural birds and their power and importance is often mimicked in their feather equivalents. For example less powerful angels like cupids, angels whose only job is to bring together true love have song bird wings. Warrior angels tended to have wings that matched birds of prey, hawks, owls, and falcons with their commanders sporting eagle wings. Anna wings are those of a red-tailed hawk. Like the English language there are more exceptions than examples that obey. Archangels for one don’t have natural wings. They are after all the embodiment of power. The distance memories of archangels remind Cas of Lucifer’s crimson feathers, Gabriel’s golden ones, and Michael’s snow white wings. In every case Castiel had ever seen the vessels wings matched those of the possessing angel. The Micheal sword’s wings had blue streaks edging the feathers. This puzzled Castiel. It didn’t match the picture of the big plan that he had been told since the beginning. It was not as it had been fated. While it was true archangel required special vessels, powerful non-human vessels could this cause the difference? Afterall the boy had a touch of his own grace. After all normal vessels didn’t have wings until after they were possessed. A human soul, a small nuclear reactor linked directly to angel grace, left without Michael the boy could grow very powerful. Perhaps even more powerful then the archangels themselves. With Michael there would be no question of Heaven’s victory. Angels were unlike humans in another way as well. From the moment they are create they know their purpose. It is a mission that is woven into their grace. It is the equivalent to a human’s career in that the angels most of their time learning and accomplishing the task but it more than that since it is linked to the angels happiness. For Michael it is to lead the heaven’s legions as an archangel. Anna is a warrior angel ready and willing to smite evil. Castiel is a guardian angel whose purpose is to protect his charge. He is not special in being a guardian angel however he had been given a rather rough case protecting a Nephilim had proved to tougher than expected. It was almost like the Winchester name was cursed. Other Guardian angels had to deal with sickness, car accidents, and dark alleys. Castiel had to deal with hell hounds and demons. Not that he begrudged his task. If angels could have emotions, he might even claim he had become quite fond of his charge.  
He stood in a memory at the moment. A memory he had viewed many times because it had greatly affected the destiny of his charge. His tan trench coat and black primary feathers brushed the long grass at the road side. The same car he had just left moments ago sits on the curb. It is the same shade as his feathers. A blond woman clutches a much younger John Winchester to her chest. His heart no longer beats. Tears stream down Mary Winchester face as she holds the body of her beloved. She will do anything to save him and the demon Azazel knows it.  
“I can bring him back. All I need is permission that in a few years I can come into your house with your child for a few minutes and not be interrupted. It’s a good deal. No one will die or hurt as long as I’m left alone. What do you say? You’ll have everything you ever waited. Leave the hunting life, have John and a family? Or say no and be left completely alone.”  
At the time Castiel had wanted to interfere. To heal John Winchester himself to save the small family from pain but his superior had order him against it since it was fated for Mary to deal with the demon. It left a bad taste in Castiel mouth but who was he to question Heaven’s plans?  
The memory shifts and this time he is in a warehouse it is covered in angel summoning symbols but they aren’t meant for him. They are meant for someone much more powerful. Mary isn’t ready to roll over and let a demon do his will with her future children. She wants a family but she wants to ensure their safety before having them like any good Mother. So she makes another deal. A balding overweight man with a pinched face in a gray suit smiles at Mary looking like he had just sold the deal of the century. Zachariah’s turkey tail fans out with pride. However, he is not the angel the warding is for either.  
“So is that a yes?”  
Mary clenches her fist. There is a determination in her green eyes that suddenly reminds Castiel of her son.  
“Will my child be safe from the demons influence?”  
“Of course. Once Michael possesses you your child will be born a Nephilim he will be strong enough to burn any demon taint from his blood. You don’t even have to be a vessel for very long. Good thing too as your weak shell would melt within days. And as a signing bonus we will throw in a full-time guardian angel.”  
Castiel frowned at Zachariah’s lie. It was unseemly for one of the host. Castiel had been created at the beginning of time to protect Mary’s first born whether or not she made the deal.  
Mary shallowed hard. “then yes.”  
It had all gone according to Heaven plan not so much for Mary’s. Michael had sired a Nephilim capable of being a powerful vessel for him. What Mary had not known was the angels still needed a vessel for Lucifer. A child tainted with demon blood was still needed. Mary may have saved her first born but the angel left Mary before her second child came to be. Allowing Azazel to stake his claim. The knight of hell was not pleased about loosing out on Winchester’s first born but he still got what bargained for in the end.  
A flutter of wings to announce another visitor to the memory. Castiel doesn’t bother to turn his head to look he just continues to observe the scene before him.  
“Anna, it still doesn’t feel right. How can we have allowed an innocent soul to be contaminated with demon darkness?”  
Anna places a calming hand on her brother’s shoulder. She had heard his arguments before and she always replied in the same manner. “It was our orders. Come on Castiel you have spent enough time in these memories, in the guilt. It was necessary if Lucifer is to have a vessel.”  
“But why start the armageddon? Why release him from his cage? Millions will die. The earth will burn.”  
Anna gives him a sharp look. “Careful, it is not your place to question Heaven’s will. Just obey it.”  
But blue eyes don’t waver at the challenge, “Was it not also our order to protect life? To protect the earth and to save people?”  
Anna could not refute his logic. But Heaven’s host had no room for free will and Castiel pointing out contradiction could be dangerous. So she replies “mysterious ways…” her wings shift up then drop in a mimic of her shrug. She was expecting an argument but what happens next was so much worse. Castiel wings spasm out ward nearly knocking her aside before snapping protectively around the angel. Castiel doubles over in pain. It feels like his grace is being ripped in half. The next thing he knows long red hair curtains Anna’s worried face above him. He is on the ground wings pined at an awkward angle beneath him. The pain is gone replaced a sick thought. He tries to surge to his feet but Anna places a palm on his chest stopping him.  
“Are you ok? What happened?” Castiel forces himself up past her hand. He has to go…now…  
“I’m fine.”  
“That not what it looked like,” snapped Anna in concern grabbing his forearm to stop him from walking away.  
“It wasn’t me. It wasn’t my pain.” Growled Castiel. Fist clenching, wings spreading like a black cloud. Anna eyes go wide at his words face going pale.  
“Is he alive?” she asks. Her thought reeling. If he dies thousands of years of planning will be lost.  
Castiel closes his eyes concentrating. Like all guardian angels he shares a profound connection with his charge. Normally he can sense emotions, pain and on occasion thoughts from Michael’s vessel. Now all he can feel is fear. The worst part is that its not from the connection. It’s his own.  
“I don’t know. I can’t feel him.”


	4. The Fallen

Leaves crutched under John’s combat boats as he trudges toward his car. Dumb kids, couldn’t even be proper bait for a black dog. Now, he has to waste his night in the wood searching for the little ungrateful brats. He yanks the door to the Impala with unnecessary force causing the door to let out a screech. It only takes a second for John to notice the heads pop up in the backseat. Rule 1: cardio. Rule 2: always check the backseat. Dean pulled the heavy wool blank closer around his shoulders; Sam pulled tightly to his bare chest. He watched his father’s eyes widen in brief shock, migrated to what might have been pride that his sons had accomplished the tasked he had set for them for a split second.  
“Huh. So, you survived. Congratulation boys you’re hunters.” The drive back to the hotel was made in silence. At one-point Sam at warmed up enough to wiggle out from under the heavy blanket but the usually chatty boy was silent just glaring daggers at the back of their father seat as through if he stared at it long enough it would burst into flame. Dean imagination had him convinced he could almost smell a hint of something burning. Dean was sweating and the wool blanket was scratchy against his bare skin but he didn’t dare remove it and now that the adrenaline of nearly dying was over he could feel the blood running down his arm from where the dog had bitten him and his shoulder burned from where the angel had grabbed him. His eyes drooped heavily. Had to stay awake …. Had to walk in get changed by himself. Dean’s eyes flew open as something touched his hand gently. Heart rate slowed as he saw it was only Sammy and not their father. Sammy touched Dean’s hand gentle to get his brother’s attention. Hazel eye wide asking permission for something without speaking a word. Dean tensed but it was Sammy so when his brother carefully snuck back under the blanket Dean didn’t move not even when he felt small warm fingers brush his back leaving goose bumps. Or when they finally found their goal the fluffy feathers. Dean closed his eyes. Sammy new he was a monster. His eyes watered. He blinked rapidly. Now, Sammy wouldn’t love him either. But Sam didn’t push himself away. Didn’t scream for their Dad to gank the monster. Warm fingers brush gently over the soft downy feathers. There is a soft tug on the left wing. Curious Dean ducks under the blanket to see what Sam is doing. The 4-year-old is pressed against Dean side cubby fingers have pulled Deans wing around him like a mini blanket. Sam sees his De confused expression and gives him his biggest smile. Now Dean is blinking back tears of a totally different kind. Sammy loves him despite the wing. No, he loves him wings and all.   
He almost made it to the bathroom in the motel blanket wrapped safely around his shoulder.   
“Boy, you’re staining the carpet,” snapped his father. Heart pounding against his ribs Dean glanced down to see he had indeed left a trail of red drops on the yellowing motel carpet.  
“Sorry, sir I’ll clean it up I just need to…” he tried to finish his retreat to the safety of the bathroom. A large hand engulfed the eight-year-olds injured forearm dragging him back.  
“You’ll do it now before it dries and I get billed for the damages. And put this back in the car where it belongs.” Before the Dean knew what was happening the blanket was ripped from his body revealing his too skinny bare chest, the bite marks in his left arm and the two extra appendages which curled instinctively closer to the boy’s back.   
For a moment John just stood there mouth slightly open blanket hanging from his fingers.   
Head snapping around as his father back handed him across the face in fury. Dean was sent sparling to the floor. Distantly Dean could hear Sammy screaming. On his hands and knees Dean tried to scramble away but John’s boot landed heavily on his lower back flatting him to the floor.   
“Frigging Monster!” Bellowed John. “It wasn’t enough that the universe had to take Mary but they gave me a frigging fugly for a son.”  
“Please daddy don’t…I’ll be good!” struggled Dean sobbing freely trying desperately to wiggle away but John was just too heavy. The floor left like it was crushing his chest and he was having trouble breathing. Dean braved a quick glance over his shoulder at his father just in time to catch the gleam of silver as John pulled his hunting knife from his boot.   
“Daddy! Don’t hurt De!” order Sam plowing with all his four-year-old strength into his fathers’ leg. John’s leg did move but only to snap out a quick kick that connected with a thud to Sammy’s head. It was a glancing blow but it overbalanced the child causing Sammy head to collide sharply with the corner of the end table.  
“Nooo! Sammy!” screamed Dean changing from trying to get away to kicking out at John in a vain attempt to fight back and get to his brother. Sam didn’t respond to the shout, his eyes remained closed and Dean couldn’t tell if he was breathing.   
Some of John’s fury abated as he looked at his youngest. He new Sam was the only good thing left in his life, only untainted thing in his life. Sam would never forgiven him if he killed the monster that looked like his brother.   
“You better do everything your told too fugly. It a good thing your brother like you and I’m too soft to put you out for good.”  
Silent tears blurred Dean vison of Sam from his position on the carpet. The weight on his back lifted and Dean scrambled toward Sam only for the boot to be replaced with a knee and his father crushed him into the carpet. Dean tried to turn over to do anything but he was trapped.   
“No monster is living in my house. If you want to live. You will act human.” Something thin and cold trailed over his shoulder blade to the small stretch of bone and muscle that connected his wings to his back. A hand fisted with crushing pressure around the delicate bone. The wing struggled the free one flapping wildly. Feathers twisted and snapping. John pulled the wing taunt. Dean gasped it felt like his wing had been dislocated. A sickening thwack filled the room as the knife bit into the bone. John jerked it free the blow had not been powerful enough to sever the wing the first time all the way through. Dean screaked in pain. Where was he? What was happening? Mommy please it hurts. With the second swing the wing dropped lifeless to the floor leaving a nub of white bone and a five inch gash across Dean’s young back. The moment the feather touched the floor they ignited burning to ash. By the time John was through with the second wing Dean had gone into shock. The boy stared blankly into the middle-distance breaths coming in shallow hyperventilating gasps and his skin had gone a milk white. John finished up his handy work with angel warding carved into the shoulder blade.  
Somewhere high above an angel cried unbeknownst to the Winchesters.  
John sat back breathing hard. His son’s blood spattering his forearms and face. John made sure Sammy was still breathing lifting him up onto the bed nearest the door before collapsing in the opposite bed himself.


	5. Memory

The next morning Dean jolted up right with a gasp.  
“Sam,” the word was weak as he scrambled clumsily to his feet, wings flapping to try and keep him balanced. He all but collapsed next the form of his sleeping brother. A large bruise spread from his eye up to his hairline. He was breathing. It was only after this discovery that Dean’s brain could focus on other oddities. Like the fact that John was not in the room. Reaching back, he ran his fingertips over the soft feathers. Had it been a nightmare? An image of hacking and blinding pain. Dean unfisted his hands from the bed covers. No. Not a dream. But his wings had grown back? He wasn’t in any pain? He glanced down at his arm where the dog had bitten him. Smooth unmark skin stretched over the skinny arm. Well, he wasn’t entirely free of pain. His shoulder burned right above his wing. But compared to the agony of last night it was nothing. Tiny feet pounded across the floor toward the bathroom mirror. The rush was halted abruptly as the boy noticed the new pattern he had created in the carpet. There was a splattering of blood but it was the scorch marks which had melted the cheap carpet and the floor in the pattern of fallen feathers. Running the rest of the way to the toilet Dean vomited. Or at least he tried too. He guessed there were perks to giving Sammy all the Lucky Charms because he would have just wasted them. His shoulder was really burning now. Pulling himself up by the lip of the sink he twisted to see his back in the bathroom’s grimy mirror. It was awkward looking over his shoulder but he could see with dread that the wings had grown back. The white feathers curled closer to his shoulder blades in shame. He wished they would just disappear. What would Dad do if he saw them?   
Dean’s eyes travel to his left shoulder where a handprint has been burned into his skin. It’s from the angel. He knows this for certain but its his right shoulder that is burning. His eyes travel to the sigil that has been carved into his flesh. He has never seen this one before it is not the same as the devils traps his father normal has him draw. It hurts. The feathers closest to it on the base of his right wing have blackened as if they are singed.   
Bang! Dean nearly falls over in fright as the motel door slams open. Footstep like thunder crash through into the sleeping area but the youngest Winchester doesn’t stir. Not even when a very unWinchester like whimper escapes from his brother’s lips. A fire lights in John’s eyes as they alight on the parasites that have regrown from his son’s back. The beer drops from the hunter’s fingers as he grabs for his duffel. Dean did what any eight-year-old would do. He slammed the bathroom door fat tears rolling down his face.  
“Brat you open this door now!”  
“No!”   
“I will kick it down!” There was a pause. Dean backed into the tub away from the door. “You want to be part of this family or not?”   
“Family!” sobs Dean arms wrapped around himself. The door grows blurry as tears swim.  
“Than open this door now!”  
“Please don’t. It hurts so much.,” hiccups the boy.  
“Last chance open the door now or…I take Sam and leave you here all by yourself.” There is a moment of silence then a soft click as the lock open and the door swings inward. That is the last quiet moment for a while for the next forty minutes as John Winchester takes a pair of wire cutters to his oldest.   
When Dean wakes up in the Impala next to Sam hours later, he doesn’t think his life could get any worse. The universe laughs at the silly Winchester child. For this is only the beginning of the Winchester chronicles. She corrects him right away when Sammy wakes, for the first time since the nightmare.   
“De, can I have the Lucky Charms?”  
“No, Sammy you ate them yesterday,” whispers Dean glancing nervously at the front seat where is father is driving but the classic rock is so loud that the children’s whispers are easily swallowed. Sammy frowns at Dean like he gone crazy.  
“I don’t remember eating them. When did dad get back De?”


	6. Brothers

For the next eight years the Winchester’s trio built a reputation. The name Winchester was what monsters feared lurked in the dark. The Winchester men were the best in the business. Like most families the tight knit family unit showed to the world had its hidden flaws. For the Winchesters the flaws were more like black holes sucking in all hope. Dean had gotten used to the constant loneliness in his chest and his father daily routine of making him into a broken winged bird. The fights with his father had gotten farther between as he learned to just take the punishment without the backtalk or taking on the majority of the work for chores and during hunts. The fights with Sammy about why Dean had to sleep on the floor? Why was Dean being the monster bait? Why was Dean missing school for a week to do research for the hunt? Why did Sam have to miss school? Why couldn’t Sam go play with his friends? Were growing more frequent. The hormonal preteen often didn’t know when to quite and was often making it worse. It was the only time Dean every stood up to his father. Last week Sam had thrown a fit that his father made Dean sleep on the floor when he could share the double bed with Sam. His father had tried to reach out to slap Sam across the face for the backtalk. Dean who now stood eye to eye with their father at just fifteen and with the rough training regiment nearly has broad across the shoulders had caught the hand stopping it dead a dangerous glint in his green eyes normally only seen on the teen when facing up against monsters. It was the glint of a hunter, a predator, not prey. It was gone almost as quickly as soon as the anger had switched from Sammy to him. He had gotten the beat down of the month but Sammy had emerged without a bruise.   
Something landed with a trunk by his head. Dean hand had slipped under the warm fabric of his pillow fisting around the hilt of his knife before his eyes even popped open.  
“Gezz, it me!” Sam quickly takes a step back from the point while his brother processes the wake-up call. Dean blinks eyes darting around the motel room in the dim morning light. John was not in sight. He gives Sam a shit-eating-grin. That should come with a warning, Sam thinks absently, in annoyance: Do not stare directly at. May cause fainting in some women.   
“Aww a moose! I think it need a haircut to see if my brother is in there.” Sam doesn’t stand a chance. Dean tackles him to the ground.   
“Not, my hair! Stop noo, get off.” Sam wiggles. Then notices that the knife is safely out of the brotherly roughhousing on the nearby table and the thing Dean is holding over his head is a pillow. Wack. Dean laughs as Sam retaliates with a pillow from the nearby chair. The pillow fight continues as a rare moment of joy in the Winchester household until Sam accidently lands a blow on Dean’s back. The affect is immediate. Dean looses two shades of color and is eyes press closed. Sam drops his pillow reaching out to grip Dean around the forearm to stabilize him. Dean roughly jerks his arm free eyes snapping open. The moment is over.  
“I’m sorry. Did Dad do something to… I can get the first aid kit,” spluttered Sam. Guilt swirl in his stomach. Sam not stupid. If his teachers are to be believed; he is actually a young genius. He has only witnessed a handful of the beating his brother has received but he knows that his just the tip of the ice berg. He’s pleaded with their father, argued with him. Tried to get Dean to run away with him but Dean just says…  
“I’m fine,” Dean grouches out. The worst part for Dean is that this time it not an injury. Sam pillow had just caught at an angle that crushed his newly grown feathers. No not an injury. Just his freaky nature. No for the first time Dean wonders if he told Sam. If he would accept him once more. But things are different now Sam not an innocent naïve child. Sam has seen the shadows the monsters cast in the night. Dean different too he a hunter; a killer with more blood on his hands than most adult hunters. If Sam ran away if he left Dean. Dean would… Honesty he couldn’t fathom what he would do without Sam.   
“Happy Birthday Dean,” Dean snapped out of his thoughts to see Sam holding out two small packages wrapped in old newspaper. “Hows it feel to be 16? You’re ancient man,” grinned Sam hair flopping in his face.  
“I’ll finally get to drive the Impala in the daylight,” Dean smiled at the thought. He had been driving since he was 13 after all when John was too drunk to safely drive but it would finally be legal for him to cruise along in the day. Taring the paper from the smaller package he lets the object fall into his palm.   
“That’s from me. The bigger package is from Dad. Uhhm I hope you like it. It is supposed to be for protection.”   
Dean’s shallowed hard as he clasps the necklace over his head. He rolls the little golden sword between his fingers. “I love it Sammy.” He steps forward and hugs his brother arms wrapping over his shoulder in a manly hug as he can manage. Not worrying for once about his brother touching his back.  
Sam is surprised but pleased about the gesture. For the first time Sam notice how tall he has gotten. He barely an inch shorter than his four-year older brother. Moments later curiosity has gotten the better him and Dean opens the package from his father. His father hasn’t given him a birthday present since he was 4 so the spark of hope that maybe he has finally proven himself is worthy to be part of the family is strong. But the things that fall out onto the red blanket throws him into icy water. A pair of familiar wire cutters and a note have Dean world spinning.  
“You’re old enough to do what needs to be done,” Sam reads brow scrunched up. “What does…Dean!?” But Dean has snatched up the items and slammed the bathroom door behind him. So Dad expect for him to mutilated himself? He feels light headed heart stuttering against his chest he leans against the door for support. He fists the charm Sam has given for comfort.   
Sam pounds his fist against the bathroom door that bars him from his brother.   
“Dean, your freaking me out man! What does he want you to do with those?” There is no answer from the other side of the door. Dean wouldn’t hurt himself, right? Sam discounts it after all it is too horrible to consider. He considers kicking the door but he is not quite big enough. He glances over at his father bag where the lock picks are kept, he need practice but he has the basic principles. “Come on Dean come outs lets head to school before Dad gets back.”  
Dean doesn’t know why this is freaking him out so badly. While he could never get use to the pain the process had become a daily ritual every morning. His Dad slicing the growths from his back while Dean tried to stop the tears. At first he had struggled and sobbed but as he grew older he had trained himself to hold it in. Why was this so much different? Dean shrugged out of his shirt. Cupid fluff they were not. Snow white and electric blue they arched behind his back, long flight feathers, sleek, so long they couldn’t even fully extend in the cramped bathroom. Dean reached back brushing his finger tips along the soft feathers until he felt the ridge where the connected. Doing it to himself was so much worse. Setting his jaw. For Sam. He squeezed the handle of the clippers. No noise escaped but a single tear rolled down. The weight of the severed wing disappeared moment after leaving nothing but ash in the wind. It took less time than shaving and left less mess but while Dean had lost ten pounds when he walked out to meet Sam his soul had gained 10 years. Giving his brother the once over. Sam could see no visible signs of harm and relaxed.  
“My eyes are up here Samantha.”  
“Jerk,” Sam resist the urge to roll his eyes at the comment and grabs his backpack; stuffing his finished paper and his math book in before grabbing Dean homework and tossing it at him. The papers drift to the floor like huge snowflakes as Dean flops on to his bed lying on his stomach.   
“Sammy you go. There no point for someone like me to learn all that stuff. You’re the nerd. All I’ll ever be is a hunter.”  
Sam glances nervously at the door and back at his brother he was hoping to get out of here before his father returned. Stooping Sam scooped up the discarded pages on the inner working of classic cars. Students choice of topic. Despite this Dean had complained constantly about the paper and even after nearly four hours the paper had been full of so many spelling error and grammar mistakes it would have given any respectable teacher heart failure. Not for the first time Sam had wondered if his brother was dyslexic like Alex another kid in this class who got extra help for writing and reading but Sam didn’t dare mention the problem to his father or brother. Later when Dean had been out running laps Sam had stolen the paper and carefully edited the mistakes in pencil. Dean hadn’t said anything but when Sam had checked later the edits had been corrected in the paper and he had found a piece of candy under his pillow.   
“You already did your work you might as well hand it in.” reasoned Sam.  
“What the point? We both know you had to help me with it and you’re four years younger. I’m not smart enough for college and it will be a miracle if Dad let me attend enough high school to graduate.” Dean voice was muffled as he buried his head in his pillow. It was a rare sight to see Dean this depressed normally it was all stoic hot shot when Sam was around. As Dean so eloquently put it sharing emotions were for girls and would Samantha like him to braid his hair too?  
“You not dumb you just miss a lot of school but missing more won’t help. I might have helped with your grammar but you help me in math on a regular basis. Everyone has their strong suit.”  
Dean’s response to Sam logic was to give a noncommittal grunt. Dean as a Winchester male was stubborn like a German sharpened with a bone. But anyone who truly knew the Winchester new that Sam was like an on coming train when he wanted something. If logic failed there was always blackmail.  
“Fine,” Sam slipped his feet into his sneakers pulling the heavy backpack higher on to his shoulder. “But for every day you skip school I skip training.” As predicted Dean head shot up to glare at Sam.  
“You can’t. Dad would beat the shit out of you.” Sam lifted his eyebrows and shrugged.  
“I guess you better get ready for school then.” Dean made a rude gesture but rolled to his feet to follow Sam. Sam always had a knack for winning arguments. Maybe he could be a lawyer.


	7. Dark Angel

The skies over Mansfield Colorado raged. Gales slashed out with black dust and debris. More than one car had experienced a momentary flight. The local government had declared a state of emergency. Black wings of death hovered blotting out the sun. With every flap gusts stronger than a hurricane torn destruction through the town. The figure hovered over the remains of what had once been The Hrady Motel which now had more in common with a box of match sticks. The owner gurgled for breath as his life was strangled out of him by the fist clasped around his throat his toes barely brushing the ground. The dark angel’s black trenchcoat billowed around him making him look twice as large.  
“Abomination,” A man and a woman stood seemingly unaffected by the oncoming storm. “Submit. You do not have the power to resist destiny.” The bald man in the suit allowed his eyes to glow briefly in a show of power. Anna flexed her wings behind her beside Zariah allowing them to spread unbothered by the whipping wind.   
“I do not. But I won’t …I won’t…disobey my mission.” Castiel’s blue eyes seemed to glow in the shadow cast by his wings.  
“A bit late don’t you think?” sighed Zariah swirling his finger around his temple to indicate how choo choo he though the other angel had gone. “I’m mean you already committed the number one unforgiveable. You disobeyed your orders. Failed your mission to start the apocalypse when you let the Michael Sword die. Now we have to settle for the knock off half-brother instead of the designer model. You fell surely you understand destroying you isn’t personal. It’s a matter of law.”   
Castiel wasn’t listening his soul piecing gaze fixed on the monster he had by the throat. The thing made him feel sick. It nashed its blood sucking teeth at the fallen angel.  
“Where? How many?” Castiel growled again.  
“Fine. The Winchester hunters passed through wiped half the werewolves pack off the face of the map and headed east now let me down. I didn’t touch them. I mind my own business. I know Winchesters are bad news. I only saw two of them but that was more than enough…” The wolf didn’t get to finish his sentence as his thought and insides where spontaneously cremated with Castiel power. Two? He had only seen two Winchesters? Which two? The body hit the ground with a splatter. Castiel raised his eyes to Zariah and for a moment Castiel eyes glowed blue in challenge.   
“Zariah, you are right. I have failed I have failed my mission to protect Dean Winchester Michael’s vessel. But starting the apocalypse was your mission and your failure. You are the one who decreed to allow the brother to be infected with demon blood. And what else but a demonic prince could sever the connection between the child and it guardian? A feat not even accomplished my death?”  
“If the vessel had been a human that might be true Castiel. You could have been called to his heaven or seen his dissent into hell but we don’t know where a Nephilim’s soul goes when they die Castiel,” Anna states voice soft.   
“Dean Winchester is alive and I will find him. Then I will smite the evil that dared harmed him. I would suggest that you stand aside,” growls the dark angel. There is a blinding flash of light. When it clears the wind stops. Castiel is gone.


	8. Inferno

Tugging the zipper open on his backpack Sam tugs out his history assignment setting the essay on the teacher desk with a sigh. It been a month since Dean’s birthday and while his brother had been putting an effort to make it to school their Dad had been taking him out to go on more and more hunts. Sam had taken upon himself to study extra hard and collect Dean’s assignments using the internet and books to first learn than tutor Dean in the early hours to give Dean a fighting chance. But even so, Dean was still on academic probation . The extra work had taken a toll on both brothers. Dean was earning scars at an alarming rate. He tried to play it off as a bonus with the ladies but every time Dean left with their Dad Sam wondered if that would be the last time. Dark half circles ringed the hazel and green. Sam had taken to sleeping in classes which were now extremely too easy for him.  
Sam dropped his gaze to the floor and found his way to the last row of desks before sitting and dropping his forehead to the cool plastic of the desk. His nap didn’t last long. Something bounced off the back of his skull. It hurt but not bad enough to actually do any lasting damage.  
“Leave him alone Mark.” Sarah a girl in Sam’s class pulled at the bully’s arm but being popular she barely had the weight to move Mark. Sam rolled his eyes up to meet Mark’s but didn’t bother to move from his slouch on the desk. Mark was larger than Sam since Sam was in advanced placement but not by much. This was not the reaction Mark had been hoping for so he moved to whack Sam again. Sam signed bored. Catching the book easily and tossing it onto the other boy’s desk. After facing off with werewolves, wendigos and Winchesters, school bullies didn’t registrar on the threat bar. Mark glared daggers but Mr. Shepard had walked in and started scrawling notes across the blackboard and thus physical abuse was off the table unless Mark wanted detection. Verbal abuse however was not. Leaning forward the git whispered in Sam ear and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.  
“Your brother is real pretty. Is that why you’re so tired? He been keeping you up late?” Sam literally had to bite his tongue, the copper taste coating his mouth, to keep from taking a swing at the creep and his bottom feeder thoughts. Seeing that he finally got a rise out of Sam, Mark grinned, mission accomplished he made his way over to his desk. Kicking his feet up on the pile of papers on the desk. Sam glared. If only glares could kill. It was one thing for bullies to insult Sam, he could shrug that off. After all, it helped him fly under the radar like Clark Kent. Mom jokes weren’t funny but Sam didn’t remember his mom so they were not personal to him. Slights on his father, well, Sam was more likely to insult his father than anyone else. But insulting Dean the brother who had raised and protected him was to Sam; an unforgivable crime.   
So, Sam was more shocked than concerned when the papers beneath Mark’s feet spontaneously combusted scorching Mark’s jeans. Mark screaked like a cat forced into a tub of water and for the next three minutes the classroom obeyed the laws of entropy and descended into chaos. Finally, Mr. Shephard found the fire extinguisher and Mark was sent to the nurses office even though he insisted that he was fine.   
“So, we were discussing that people in concentration camps usually lack basic necessities like food, water, and treated worse than animals and were killed when they were too sick to work,” started Mr. Shephard looking slightly frazzled with white ashy sodium carbonate from the fire extinguisher stinking in his black hair. The teacher yanked down on the projector screen covering up the blackboard. A picture of three women in black and white was projected. “After reading so much about these peoples lives, I thought it would be nice for you to see a picture of these brave women who survived such awful conditions.”  
“Eww,” piped up Mark’s girlfriend Brianna “They need to go on a diet.” The women in the photo were extremely overweight but that not something that should be pointed out about any women especial war survivors. Mr. Sherpard had turned scarlet in anger and was taking deep calming breaths before replying,  
“Now if you had starved most of your life and then found yourself in a place where food was plentiful don’t you think that those poor souls would eat as much as they could while food was available?” Sam had listened to the comment but hadn’t really understood it until a week later when the cost became apparent. After all thanks to Dean, Sam had gone hungry a few nights but never truly starved.


	9. Fainting Spell

Dean leaned up against his locker pulling his calculus textbook free. The book had much the resemblance of a brick, rusty red, rectangular and heavy but it was the only one that he enjoyed reading. Scratch that it was the only one of his textbooks that he wouldn’t go out back and use for target practice given half a chance. He smirked as the thought of using his 22 on the copy of Shakespeare’s greatest hits in his locker. Now that would be a good time. A gentle touch trailed along his forearm. He resisted the urge to flinch away when he saw the flick of long red hair. Red head score!   
“So Dean I was wondering if you…” Dean shifted to look at the girl one brow lifted half smirk showing off perfect teeth and long dark lashes fluttering just enough, wide green eyes all but innocent. Well-muscled forearm resting smoothly against the locker slightly above her shoulder. The girl goggled mouth a gape, words lost in a rush of blood to her face. Was Dean aware of the effect he had on 99% of the female population? Absolutely, and he did feel bad about using to get what he wanted sometimes but despite his reputation as the teenage dream bad boy. He had never done the deed as some might call it. In fact, with the exception of some exotic mouth to mouth the stories were just that; stories. There were good reasons for this; Dean was up for a little fun if a girl was but he knew his family never stayed long in one place and he had seen his Dad’s relationship and didn’t want to hurt the girls especially if they were his friends. Secondly, the massive scars that hid under his clothes were hard to explain.   
“You were saying? Ally…” prompted Dean gently.  
“Umm,” stuttered the girl intelligently. The bell saved the star struck girl. Dean gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder and a wink that made her heart skip a beat as he pushed passed her from his position on the lockers.   
That was a mistake. The sudden change in elevation made the room spin wildly. It was like the teacup ride he had snuck Sam onto when they were little except faster and less fun. Ally was standing in front of him again mouth moving forming what he would guess was his name but once again no sound escaped. But this time when he replied no sound escaped his mouth either. Frowning he blinked rapidly reaching out to grasp Ally shoulder to keep her from doing any more acrobatics. But his hand slipped lower on accident to a place where he was sure to get a slap but no slap was forthcoming. Instead Ally turned horizontal as Dean listed sideways. His last thought before he completely blacked out was of embarrassment because normally in this situation it was the ladies who fainted.   
Dean woke to soft hands roaming his body in places they shouldn’t. Get your mind out of the gutter people; he meant his back. The wings had already been snipped that morning but the scars remained. Green eyes snapped opened as he scrambled backwards on the thing he was laying on and snatched the wrist of the wondering hand, breathing hard.   
“Mr. Winchester, Dean, how are you feeling?” Mrs. Hudson the stern but kindly school nurse raised a painted brown eyebrow; until Dean released his grip on the skeletal wrist. He wasn’t going to be the kind of monster that hurt women. Especially old ladies.   
“Fine,” answered Dean swinging his legs over the side of the papered examine table. The paper crinkled and bunched as he moved.  
“Dean,” warned the older woman resting a gentle but restraining hand on his forearm.   
“Fine, Madam,” corrected Dean but apparently that wasn’t what the nurse had been expecting as an answer because he brow.   
“Dean, you passed out and were unresponsive for ten minutes. That is not normal for someone your age. I tried calling your father but he didn’t seem to want to talk.” Dean shallowed hard. If he had to guess he would assume that the nurse was giving him the PG version of her phone call. The lines in the nurse face softened as she spoke. “Has this happened before?”  
“No, madam.” Dean shook his head firmly. Why had the lady bothered his dad? Now there would be hell to pay at home.   
Mrs. Hudson signed. She had seen cases like this boy before but never this bad. The boy looked half starved when she had checked his back she had felt what she hoped were ribs and not signs of abuse but she would not bet her license on it. Other worrying signs were abundant including the brief uncaring and rude confrontation she had had with the father, the way the boy kept glancing at the door and how he was unnatural polite for a rebellious teenager. As a school nurse she had little power to help the child but she resolved to do what she could. After all good things do happen; when people choose to do what is right not what is easy. One step at a time should could solve today’s problem at least. “When was the last time you ate?” It was no secret that teenager need a lot of calories especial tall teenage boys.  
“This morning. Madam.” She tutted adding liar to the long list of expected traits. The boy was trying to suppress the tremors that raked his body.   
“Do you want to try that question again or do you want me to call your brother in here to answer the question?” She didn’t! Green eyes narrowed but when he spoke it was the truth-ish.  
“Two days ago madam,” Dean dropped his gaze. And it had only been a poptart but he had said enough already. But Sammy needed the food to fuel his freakishly tall growth spurt and there wasn’t much money or food to go around in the first place. The nurse pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration thinking.  
“Can I go now? I feel fine really. Madam,” Dean appeased. The woman’s smile had fainted replaced with a sad tired look.  
“Wait one moment,” she replied walking across to her desk to grab something. Dean tensed preying she wasn’t going to call the cops or child protective services on him. But she snatched up and forced something round and red into his hands. An apple.   
“Eat,” she ordered firmly. “ Then you can go.”


	10. Hunter

Once Dean had finished the apple and scampered to freedom, she had called his brother Sam into her office. The kid was freakishly skinny but the kind of skinny that came with a sudden growth spurt and Sam was nothing if not tall. Which worried her. If Dean was the older sibling and possible had already reached his full height it would make logical sense if he was the taller one. While once again possible it was likely if he hadn’t been getting enough to eat on a regular bases it might have stunted his growth. The boy nervously brushed long shaggy bangs out of his hazel eyes. His hands subconsciously picking at the scab hidden in his thick hair.   
“Am I in trouble?” Sam asked. His mind racing to identified what he could have possible done in the four months they had been at this school to be called out. He wasn’t a trouble maker like Dean. To be fair Dean was on his best behavior at this new school and had only send two boys who had picked on Sam to the nurse. And they had been so terrified of his brother they hadn’t ratted him out. Did they find the blood splatter on the Martin Luther King Biography he had taken out of the library? But it had only been one page and why would he be called to the nurse not the librarian?  
“No you’re not in trouble. I just have a few questions. Sam.”  
Warning lights started flashing in Sam brain. Questions were never a good thing in the Winchester’s line of work unless you were the one asking them. The woman was stacking a bunch of what looked like cans into a plastic bag as she spoke and Sam fidgeted nervously. Was she on to them? Were they going to have to switch school again? He was expecting a question like: what does your father do for a living. Or did you know the last payment to the school was alerted as credit card fraud? So her actual question surprised him and he answered it without thinking.  
“When was the last time you ate Sam?”  
“I had a sandwich at lunch,” answer Sam confused. He wasn’t going to mention it was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich without the jelly that had barely filled him and made him feel like he was five not an earlier placement high schooler. The nurse nodded to herself at his answer. Her respect for the older brother growing along with her dislike of the father. With a difficulty that spoke of painful joints the woman sat herself on the edge of her desk grocery bag sitting next to her.   
“Sam your brother passed out today,” She held out a hand to stop Sam sudden heart attack eyes wide, mouth open to ask; where? How? Is he ok? “He’s fine. He went back to class and doesn’t know I am telling you this.” Sam heart felt like it had just experienced bungee jumping. “Now Sam, this is really important so I need you to listen Dean’s condition is not your fault but you can help him.”   
“I thought you said he was fine?” accused Sam shallowing hard.  
“He is now. But he passed out because of low blood sugar and he told me he hadn’t eaten in two days,” suddenly the sandwich sitting in Sam gut felt like an anchor. “I tried taking to your father but…let just say it wasn’t a long conversation. Now Sam the right thing to do according to the law in this kind of situation I to contact people who could take care of you.” She held up her hand to stop the protest Sam was readying in argument. “Sam I’m going to give your family one last chance to stay together. Because when I was little I was separated from my sibling and I don’t want that to happen to anyone else because of me.”  
Sam meant her challenge unblinking. “What do I have to do?” She smiled at the twelve-year-old and didn’t doubt it. She had heard the stories of the brilliance of the twelve year old from the other teachers. But it was one thing to be smart ahead of your years and another to understand responsibility at such a young age. Arm shaking from the weight of the bag with the heavy cans she passed the bag of food she had bought from the convenience store to the youth. Sam took it but his eyes dropped.  
“Thank you but … I have no way to pay for all this,” Her smiled reached her eyes this time not just smart and responsible but hardworking.  
“I heard your pretty smart. And spend most of your free time in the library. You think you could tutor my son in Alec he could pay for the lessons in food? Just make sure your brother eats Sam.”  
Apparently, she had come up with the correct solution because Sam was smiling so hard he looked like a shark. 

Things got slightly better that next year at least food wise. The brothers were allowed to stay at the same high school in those months because the surrounding counties were infested with vampires. Sam had tutored and been paid in food. With so much extra food in the house the boys hadn’t skipped a meal in weeks. Sam had gone from stick figure wirily and Dean from reedy to broad shouldered and according to the cheerleaders ‘angelic’. Sam watched in fascination as Dean chugged a can of bake beans one part horrified, two part disgusted and one part awe the normal reaction of a thirteen-year-old.   
“But we just ate breakfast an hour ago…” Sam protested weakly.   
“I know a whole hour!” Replied Dean through a mouth full of beans. He offered the can to his not so little brother with a smirk that showed more beans than teeth. Sam made a fake retching sound in response but couldn’t suppress his own grin completely. Dean was in a fine mood this morning as he drove the Impala one handed down the clear sunny roads. He was full. Dad had entrusted him with his own small hunt this weekend after a series of very successful hunts where Dad had allowed Dean to take point. Sam was in the passenger seat reading a textbook as big as the kid’s head and attempting to quiz Dean. Sam was less than pleased that he had been sent with Dean to take care of a standard salt and burn when he wanted to studying for the SAT like the other students this weekend. But he had known better than to mention that to their father. Dean was happy. After all he had everything he loved right next to him; Sammy, the Impala, and food and he was monster hunting. Had Christmas come early? The Impala rolled liked some great black panther through the cute little main street like some deadly predator through the herd of minivans and sedans. Slowing in front of a library with yellowing pillars that gave it an air of ancient wisdom with just a hint of mold.  
“Dean I thought the ghost was in an abandoned house?” frowned Sam as the Impala pulled to a halt in front of the library. Did his brother want to do more research? Dad had already finished the research and clearly told them it was a simple case of a salt and burn.  
“Yep, It right down the street. But you nerd, are staying here in your natural habitat,” ordered Dean reaching across Sam to push the passenger side door open. He may enjoy the adrenaline and the feeling of saving people but hunts were dangerous. That was the biggest difference between John and Dean Winchester. It wasn’t the wings. No, they both loved hunting in a way Sam could never relate too. It was the reason they hunted that made them different. For instance, if they ever caught the demon that killed Mary Winchester. John might have given up the trade. However, Dean would go on. Since Dean wasn’t an avenger, he was a hero. Hunting was about saving people for Dean not avenging the death of his mom. While Dean was willing to risk his own life to save innocent. He was too selfish to risk his brother’s.   
“Dad said…” Dean raised open eyebrow calling Sam baloney.  
“So, you have suddenly started to listen to Dad?” Sam rolled his eyes.   
“But you shouldn’t hunt alone,” Sam protested weakly eyeing the over brimming bookbag. After all it was a simple salt and burn in the day time. Dean had gone on more of these than years Sam had been alive.   
He let himself be talked out of the Impala onto the side walk which was a mistake. He realized this the moment the car rolled away. So, he turned his back on the library and started chasing the impala. How many ancient mansions could there be in the mall town? Sam hoped not many.   
Well it would have all gone smoothly if had only been a ghost. Dean trekked up the paving stone path to the old mansion. He adjusted the strap of his duffel on his shoulder so it would not dig in so much while he hefted the salt loaded shot gun in his right hand. He loved these old houses. They came in little neat packages with their own little cemeteries. He didn’t need to go searching all around the town and there would be no visitors to the graves. The house was a rotting shell long abandoned. The rot iron gate creaked as he pushed into the little weed infested cemetery. The iron circling the cemetery should have been his first clue that his father research had been as full off holes as swiss cheese.   
Unzipping the duffel Dean pulled the shovel out and set to work. It wasn’t when the temperature dropped and his breath became visible or when he heard the low angry hiss behind him that he knew he was in deep. No, it was when he spun the iron shovel around to smack the angary spirit into the next world and the shovel imbedded itself with a solid thunk in the forearm of the ‘spirit’. The ‘ghost’ didn’t look much like the original pilgrim thought to have haunted the place. Unless pilgrims liked skinny jeans and biker jackets and were twenty-year-old chicks with chemical bleached hair. Oh and had fangs.   
The vampire’s fist came up catching Dean by surprised hurling him across the dinky graveyard. His short flight came to an abrupt halt as his back connected with a grave stone. Dean scrambled to get his feet under him into a fighting position. The vampire reached a hand for this throat but Dean was faster this time grapping a fist full of her curls and introducing her face to his knee. Vampire what the heck? This was supposed to be a salt and burn. The moment he thought it, he wished he had not challenged the universe. A ghost looking much more like a pilgrim; a hangered old man with two tale tail pin pricks at his neck phased into being and stuck his fist into Dean’s chest. It felt like falling into ice water. Dean gasped but his lungs did not respond by expanding. He fell to his knees blinking hard to try and stay conscious. The vamp pinched her bleeding nose and grinned at Dean as she slid her delicate finger to caress his cheek other hand running through his short spiking hair.  
“I hope you taste as good as you look,” she purred as she used her grip in his hair to yank his head back exposing his neck. Her lips brushing over his pulse. He tried to struggle but the ghost was draining the energy out of him. All he was left with, his last defense, was an obnoxious comment.  
“Fugly, I hope you can hold your liquor because my blood alcohol got to be like 95%.”  
Needle like teeth pierced soft flesh. Dean gritted his own teeth in pain at the horrible sensation of being drained.   
“DEAN!” was the last thing he hurt before he passed out.


	11. Six Feet Deep

Sam hurtled the rot iron fence as Dean went limp in death’s embrace. Hurtled was a strong word. The action was more of a step with his long legs. It had taken Sam about twenty minutes to spot the house but that was plenty of time for Dean not to find just one monster but two. Forget chick magnetic more like trouble magnetic.   
Sam snatched Dean discarded duffel. Digging through it franticly as he tackled the vampire away from his sibling. His fingers closed around the small metal square of the lighter. The vampire staggered away as if drunk and Sam dove for the uncovered grave. He could smell the fresh earth mixed with propane. All it needed was a spark. Feeling the threat to its exitance the lighter was ripped out of his fingers and Sam was tossed into the open grave. Dirt spilled on top of him as he tumbled against the sides of six-foot hole. Sam scrambled around in the dirt touching something smooth and long that he rather not think to hard about but no lighter. Come on he just needed a flame.   
Wooosh. HOT. HOT. HOT. Sam scrambled frantically out of the grave. The splintered wood of the ancient coffin had caught fire spreading from beneath his palms roaring to life in a hellish blaze. The flames licked hungerly at the bones.   
A few feet from the gory bonfire the vampire clutched at her throat. Hunched over she dry-heaved trying to rid herself of the acid that was liquefying her guts. She let out one gargled screech before crumpling to the ground her eyes burnt out of her skull, leaving only chard holes.   
Dean blinked at a grey rectangular…gravestone. The past few minutes came flooding back with the smell of burning wood.   
“Sam!” Panic made his heart faster than his feet as he raced to the grave dropping to his knees in the fresh dirt. He was supposed to protect Sam from the fire! The smoke made his eyes sting and it a challenge to spot Sam. What had Sam used to start the fire? The flames were huge and roaring. He wasn’t sure he had any eyebrows left. It felt like brushing his arm against the insides of an oven but he managed to get a grip on what turned out to be Sam’s forearm. Leaning back Dean heaved his gigantor brother out of the pit. The back of Dean’s head dropped to the dirt behind him. He had to check on Sam there didn’t seem to be enough air and his arm felt like it had taken a swim in lava. Had he gotten out of the house in time? Did the baby breath too much smoke? There was a shadow blocking out the sun and mouthing something that didn’t reach his ears.  
Sam heaved out a laugh as Dean dragged him to safety. Making a crack about “I’m here to rescue you.” A Star Wars joke that Dean would appreciate. Glancing over at his brother the mirth of escaping a fire unscathed lost. Dean wasn’t looking at Sam he was staring unseeing at the flames a dazed expression on his face. A wheezing sound accompanied the rapidly expanding and falling of his brother’s chest. Crawling over to his brother Sam took in Dean’s pasty complexion. The only obvious injury was his right hand which was red and had nasty looking welts, that was going to make writing and firing his gun fun. Was Dean in shock? But Dean’s not afraid of anything. Sam followed his brother gaze to the dancing flames. Sam knew their house had burned down when Dean was 4 but Sam had no memory of the event and Dean had burned hundreds of bones since then why would this bother him now? What was different? Sam positioned himself between Dean and the fire blocking his brother’s view of the flames.  
“Sammy?” Green eyes blinked slowly at Sam. Sam ignored the question and pulled his brother into a quick hug. An ‘ok’ Dean would have told him to stop being girlly but the words that Dean spoke were not from an ‘ok’ Dean. “I got you out? Sammy’s not burnt?” The voice was so wrong. It wasn’t the deep drawl that joked and shouted commands it was a much younger.   
“You saved me, Dean. You always save me.” Sam glanced from his brother’s broad shoulders to the gravel trek back to the Impala. While Sam was nearly the same size he doubted that he would be about to carry his brother all the way.   
In the end it didn’t matter. “Get off, Samantha.” Dean brushed Sam off climbing to his feet as if the breakdown had never happened. Dealing with the melt down in typical Winchester fashion. Repress and move on. As a thirteen-year-old Sam was just glad to have his invincible brother back, the one constant in his life even if that image was starting to show scorch marks around the edges.


	12. Family is more than Blood

When the famous monster slayer John Winchester had called in a favor with Bobby Singer the living monster encyclopedia. Bobby had been prepared to hand more situations than most. Needed information on how to kill a goal he’s got that. Wanted a heart of a dragon that had been slayed by a knight he’s got contacts. Professional FBI impersonator he your boss. Need a body to disappear? He’s got a wood chipper. But babysitter was not on his resume, which he had clearly explained to John Winchester in a non-PG phone call that would defiantly disqualify him as a babysitter to most sensible parents. Unfortunately for Bobby, John was anything but a sensible parent. So that was how he wound up dragging on his rottweiler’s leash in one hand and a shot gun in the other as the Impala fish-tailed away leaving two very lost boys amongst the Junkers in the Singer Salvage yard. Bobby eyed the two boys. They were both tall pushing 6 foot but incredibly skinny marking a sudden growth spurt. The older of the two boys had shorter hair and forest green eyes he stood bodily in front of the second boy who sported long shaggy locks and hazel eyes. If Bobby hadn’t known that they were John’s children he would have classified them as pretty boys that wouldn’t know which end of a gun to hold. Sighing Bobby lower the barrel of his gun. He might not be pleased about spending his weekend looking after the two kids but that anger was for their daddy not these lost boys that had been abandoned on a total stranger’s door step.   
“Let’s get you settled in and then grab something to eat. But I want to make it clear that this is not some free loader hotel. You’re expected to earn your keep. See those buckets of bolts. They’re not going to fixed themselves so I hope you know your mechanics.”  
Bobby turned back to the house gesturing for the two to follow but he caught the motion in his peripheral as the younger tired to step out from behind to follow. The younger boy was quickly stopped by an out stretched arm of the other boy who made to walk in front of him however the broad shoulder of the young man lowered slightly.   
“You two boys can call me Bobby. Your daddy gives you names?” grouched out Bobby not turning around as he opened the door to the house. The lads followed him in their stuff in two duffels over each of their shoulders.   
“I’m Sam this is Dean,” Dean gave Sam the stink eye but Sam ignored it relaxing as the dog stuck his nose into his leg tail wagging furiously.   
Bobby showed the boys the two guest rooms so they could drop their stuff off. The guest rooms were not much to see. Each had a small cot and a dresser for clothes but nothing else. Bobby had been prepared to gruffly shut down any fights about who got the room with the window, the only main difference between the two room, after showing the boys the second room. Sam tossed his bag on the bed with a grin. Bobby turned to Dean to see if the older boy was going to raise a fuss about the younger claiming the window room but stopped. Dean was digging in his pack which he had tossed on the floor pulling out a small sleeping bag and unrolling in under the window.   
“Boy what do you think you are doing?” The kid tensed head shooting up to meet Bobby’s gaze confusion written across his face.  
“Sir?” Bobby frowned at the formality. Did this kid think he had to sleep on the floor? To protect his younger brother? Was he too scared to ask for the other cot? Bobby opened his month but Sam had just seen what his brother was doing.  
“We can each have our own room!” said Sam all but bouncing on the bed in glee. He did however grab Dean’s sleeping material and march to the door.  
“But…” Dean protested his face going slack mouth dropping open. His need to be the invincible big brother waring with his fear of being alone and part from Sam. “what if something happens.” He finished quietly   
“But Dean I’ve never had my own!” Sam grinned “I’ll…be careful,” he paused as he glanced at Bobby. Probably thinking better than to mention what careful meant( more like salt, hunting knives and possibly a gun of his own). The devastation was so pronounced on Dean face when Sam dropped Dean’s stuff on the other cot that Bobby felt a little pang in his old frozen heart. Uh oh, thought the old hunter if he was not careful these boys would worm their way in to the grizzled hunter’s life in more ways than just a temporary babysitter. 

After the first two days Sam had taken over the house and reorganized Bobby’s library. The kid just wouldn’t stop reading. Even the driest most boring volumes were gobbled up as if they were juicy adventure novels. Bobby leaned against the doorframe he had just come back from a supply run and decided to peak at the boys. They had taken up what had come to be their normal positions; Sam on his belly on the floor surrounded with enough book that if they were to fall, he would surely be crushed. Reading one so intensely you would think his life depended on finishing within the hour. Dean sat between Sam and the door boredly bouncing a tennis ball that had seen better day before it had been introduced to the dog. The moment Bobby had appeared green eyes had met his then went back to bouncing, but the tension in the young shoulders had not vanished. An idea had been bugging Bobby for the last two days.  
“Boys, it’s times to earn your keep. Come-on we gonna fix some cars.” Sam gave Bobby a very teenage glare and deep sigh but followed without further complaint. Dean just gave a stiff nod.  
“Yes, sir” following Bobby outside into the junkyard. Balls, thought Bobby what had John done to his oldest? He was like a little soldier. He would have expected this attituded from a young marine fresh back to the states not a kid barely out of highschool? Had he even graduated? Bobby would have to make a point to ask but he would have to wait until the kid looked less likely to jump out of his skin or throw a punch. Dean stayed between Sam and Bobby all the way out to the car Bobby wanted them to work on which wasn’t a difficult task because Sam lagged behind asking more than once if Bobby would let him organize his library some more instead of working on the car. Bobby would have said yes in most cases the book needed organizing, looking more like a fire hazard than a library, and the kid clearly enjoyed the task but he knew that if he sent Sam back Dean would go too despite a lack of interest. There would be time for books later. Bobby smiled proudly at the look of slack jawed awe the older Winchester sported at the sight of the car. It wasn’t a classic unfortunately which had been Bobby first choice but what teenage boy wouldn’t love a sleek sports ferri even one that had a massive spray of bullet holes in the driver side. Unthinking Dean stepped forward opening the driver door and popping the hood to see the engine. In doing so he had unconsciously allowed Bobby to move between him and Sam. Green eyes flicked between Sam and Bobby when this realization hit. Bobby feeling as if he was between a wounded animal and escape took a very small step toward Dean and away from Sam. Dean gaze flicked back to the car. It was nothing but it was everything for Dean. It was the first signs of trust and a huge step forward.  
Two hours later the car engine could start even if the ventilation in the driver door was a horror show. Dean brushed the back of his hand across his forehead trying to get the sweat out of his eyes leaving a smear of dark grease over his eyebrow into his hair. It was the dirtiest Bobby had seen the kid but it was also the happiest. A smile tugged the corners of his lips.   
“Uggh,” groaned Sam “Dean it doesn’t fit! Are you sure it a part of the engine?” Dean leaned over snatching the piece of tubing out of Sam hand and flipping it over and handing it back with a shit eating grin.  
“It does if you put it in right-side up.” Sam gave Dean a bitch face but proceeded to connect the part.  
The next day Bobby asked Dean to help him with an old pick-up truck but allowed Sam to do research on women in white on the seat of a nearby mini-van while they worked on the truck. The following day Sam was given another assignment in the house and Dean followed Bobby out to the junkyard alone. They finished the truck. The boy had been twitchy the entire time watching the house and Bobby when he thought Bobby wasn’t looking. But the patience was paying off. Sam was acting like a normal teenage kid. Bratty and a smart alec.   
Over the months with no word from their dead-beat dad, Bobby had done the thing he had sworn not too. He had lost his wife and son. While the boys could never replace what he had lost they had found there own place in his heart. They were two halves of a broken family. A father without his children and kids without parents to protect and love them. So Bobby watched Sam read and study on his own. One day Sam woke to brochures on the foot of his cot. They were brochures to Yale, Harvard and Princeton. Bobby hadn’t said anything but when sealed envelopes had appeared on the kitchen counter addressed to the Ivy league schools. He had just placed them in the mail box. Dean was acting less like PTSD solider and more like a young man who loved Bobby’s old sports cars. He had also become more comfortable with being independent from Sam spending long hours in the yard with Bobby and even leaving Sam and Bobby alone while he took the old cars out for test drives. Bobby had also achieved what Sam had labeled impossible. He had convinced Dean to take the test for the GED, which to Dean great surprise and Sam and Bobby unsurprised he passed with flying colors.   
It had been the first day that Dean hadn’t check the front window for the sight of a familiar black car first thing in the morning that things went south. Dean was lying on his stomach on the coach watching ghost busters only paying the slight attention to Bobby and Sam who stood next to the book shelf discussing the various knickknack on the selves that would have to be moved to get to the books beneath.   
“What is this?” Sam asked reaching for an ornate wooden box inlay with gem stones and craved crucifixes.   
“Don’t,” Bobby warned hand darting out to clap around Sam’s wrist.   
“mrrggg,” hissed Sam in pain as his hand connected with the edge of the container. Bobby’s hand never landed. Instead his bottom collided with the carpet and pain exploded in Bobby face. The jeweled box bounced to the carpet next to the older man. Raising his own fist to protect himself; Bobby struck out blindly connecting with whatever had brought him to the ground and hopefully getting its attention away from Sam. Next thing Bobby knew his attacker had him in an iron head lock one forearm around his throat and the other on the back of his head.  
“Sam run!” order Dean from right beside Bobby’s ear. Balls thought Bobby. Dean had thought he had laid a hand on Sam. Now how to explain he hadn’t before he blacked out? The boy was unnaturally strong or was Bobby just getting old?


	13. Scars

A moment later the noose around Bobby neck loosen allowing him to gain sweet air.   
“Boy, I wasn’t…” snapped Bobby trying to explain that he had also been trying to protect the young brat but Dean cut him off. Dean spoke with his head lower and gaze averted, shoulders slumped but Bobby was detailed orientated enough to notice he had moved between the older man and pursuit of Sam. But it was Dean’s words that stopped Bobby cold.  
“Where is your spare belt sir? I’ll get it but can I leave my t-shirt on please? It’s rather thin anyway?”   
Bobby was at a loss for words. He blinked back the burn in his eyes. He had known that John hadn’t been the best father. He was a hunter taking his boys into dangerous environments Bobby didn’t agree with that but he could excuse it. The world was a dangerous place. His own child hadn’t known of the danger that lurked in the dark and he had wound up just as dead. The neglect was harder to forgive; the way Sam clothes barely reach his wrist and ankles and how Dean was too skinny for a growing boy. But abuse? No wonder Dean had attacked him when he had reached for Sam. He couldn’t believe John was capable of doing such a thing to his own son.   
“Take off your shirt,” voice deep with emotion. He knew the boy would take it the wrong way but he needed to see the extent of the damage. Dean swallowed hard shrugging out of his tee kneeling in front of Bobby. There wasn’t an ounce of fat to hide the well-developed muscles but jagged scars marred nearly every inch of skin. A clear bite mark from some kind of animal arose half hidden over his hip and onto his abs. A stab mark and a perfect round hole marred his left pec but those were the unfortunately normal marks of a hunter in his prime. It was Dean’s back that told of the horrors of the lack of a childhood. Long thin slices cut across this back that could only come from a belting. Someone had burned a hand print onto his shoulder and on the oppose shoulder blade someone had carved a rune into his flesh. But the icing on the cake was the two huge scars nearly an inch wide in thick white tissue that ran down the edges of Dean shoulder blades near the middle of his back.  
Dean flinched as Bobby cool hand meant the bare flesh of his shoulder. Bobby had numbly covered the handprint with his own hand as he knelt in front of Dean so that they would both be at eye level. Making the same promise that the angel had.  
“Son, I would never hurt you and I will never let anyone else hurt you again,” promised Bobby pulling Dean into a hug arms over his shoulders one hand rubbing comfortingly on the back of Dean’s neck. The tension eased out of Dean and was replaced with silenced sobs and quiet tears escaped their green pools.  
“Don’t tell Sammy,” begged Dean.  
“You’re going to be ok son, shh, it’s going to be ok.”


	14. Into the Light

Bobby was right Sam hadn’t gone fair. Actually, he had never left the house despite slamming the front door to make it look like he had. He was having his own little panic attack hiding in the dark closet with the door closed. Ear pressed up against the wood listening carefully for any sounds that Dean was in trouble. The war between obeying Dean orders and protecting his brother made the blood pound so hard in his ears he doubted he would actually be able to hear anything. Running his hands through his hair in distress Sam frowned he felt two nubs of smooth lumps between the brown locks. They were no thicker around then Sam thumb less than a quarter inch tall. They weren’t painful just weird and if he hadn’t been so freak out about what had just happened he would have rushed to a the bathroom mirror to examine them. Twenty minutes later he had finally collected the courage to venture out of the closet. Trying to wipe the tear tracks off his cheeks he reached up to grasp the door knob to creep out of the dark. However he never got the chance. The door swung outward and someone grabbed Sam forearm firmly and pulling him to his feet and into the light.   
“Heya Sammy, I think I might have overreacted.” Dean smiled his eyes a little shiny and shirt a little rumpled but no obvious injuries.  
“Jerk,” Sam said in relief.


	15. The Coming Storm

Two weeks later, two of the best weeks of the boys lives, Dean woke in his little cot to a hand over his mouth. The hand was calloused and rough held tight against Dean’s lips.   
“Relax boy, you been here long enough. It’s making you soft,” the gravelly voice made Dean’s wings curl in closer to his back as if that would protect them. Dean stopped struggling when he recognized the voice but he was as tense as a bow string. John Winchester released his grip on his oldest’ s mouth when he knew he wouldn’t yell. “It time to go. Grab your bag.”   
Dean didn’t respond right away which caused John to raise a questioning brow and to study his son. In the months since he had seen him his oldest had grown both in height and muscle mass. John was no fool he knew there was a difference between a man who started training in the prime of his life to be in great shape and a scrappy fighter and he also knew they could never hope to gain the skills of the children trained from a young age to be the deadliest predators on the planet. His children were what hunted the things in the dark. Then there was Dean who wasn’t even a human. John was no fool he knew in a straight fight he would lose now. Dean was no child. Unfortunately for Dean, John didn’t fight fair. He knew Dean ultimate weakness. It wasn’t even a battle. Gaze down Dean spoke.  
“I like it here. Bobby’s nice.”  
John fisted the front of Dean pajama shirt forcing them face to face.  
“Listen boy you’re a supernatural freak. Not a child. Do you really believe a man like Bobby wants to spend his hard-earned cash on some monster? He would toss you out the minute he realized what you are. Bobby been in this game longer than even I and he knows how to put down the inhuman.” John smiled as he watched the small spark of defiance fade in his son eyes. “Besides there is a dark cloud hunting you. It has visited the last four towns you were in and scorched your name into the town squares. Everyone who as witnessed the evil had their eyes burned out of their scull. Do you want that to happen to Bobby?”  
“No,” answered Dean.  
“No what?” growled John with a vicious shake that made Dean head snap around uncomfortably.  
“No sir,” Dean whispered.  
John let go and stood walking toward the door and a life Dean he could not escape. Yet Dean still hadn’t moved. So John used his failsafe.  
“Sam’s already in the car. I’m leaving in five minutes.”


	16. Valedictorian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thanks for the comments! I love hearing what you guys think. I have a lot more written. Let me know what you guys think is going to happen and what you would like to see. No promises through. I hope you enjoy this next chapter. Happy Easter.

Dean was immediately on his feet and obeying John. It was much easier to get Dean in the car than it had been to get Sam in the car. John thought as he climbed into the impala rubbing at the red angry bite mark Sam had given him.   
“JOHN WINCHESTER! You !%$&!!” Bobby came running out of his house to ward the impala. “you let those boys go right now!” He cocked his shotgun as he dashed toward the car but John had stepped on the gas and the Impala fishtailed around and out of the Junkyard to fast for Bobby to follow.   
“If I seen you again John, I am going to shoot you!” bellowed Bobby giving the promise as a parting gift to the monster. 

It was downhill from there but despite the dysfunctional family dynamic, the monsters, the nomadic life style and the financial problems, somehow Sam managed to graduate high school. His secret SAT scores shot him to the top of every universities list.   
A bead of sweat rolled through the shaggy hair under the graduation cap. The hot May sun beat down on the stage as Sam resisted the urge to swipe the sweat away as he gazed out at the sea of mortarboards and tassels and their proud parents.   
“This is an end of an era. A time to say good bye to teachers, friends and family. Most of you don’t know me. I was new to the school so I thank you for the lessons both academic and practical that you have given me. Thanks for teaching me; it doesn’t matter where you come from or what other people think of you. If you work hard you can achieve anything. Case in point a kid that had more schools than teachers could graduate valedictorian. I just want to thank you my fellow classmates for choosing me even though we are all so different. Never let anyone tell you people are all equal. We are different. Some will become doctors and lawyers’ others will be artists and chemists and much more. It is our differences that make the world wonderful. In the words of Einstein “ Everybody is a genius but if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree it'll live its whole life believing that it's stupid”. So while the teachers might tell you otherwise it is ok to take the road less traveled. Follow your heart just do it smart. Use what you know to support your dreams. They are your dreams and no one will give them to you. You must earn them but don’t let anyone tell you they are out of reach. If you want to be a scientist or a lawyer follow your dreams to college but if you enjoy cooking, coaching or hunting that ok too. It is your life. It is our future. Thanks and congratulation graduates.”  
Sam stepped down from the podium and took his seat on the hot stage next to the principal. He blinked rapidly to try and contain the burn in the back of his throat. He had scanned the crowd but the one person who mattered hadn’t made it. He new dad wasn’t going to show. John knew Sam was graduating in the matter that his son didn’t have school next week and thus could go hunting with him but he simply hadn’t cared enough to even bother to ask if there was a graduation. Despite this fact, it was a statement to how messed up his family was, it was a relief not to have his dad show. Sam swore his blood pressure rose rapidly whenever his dad was around. But Dean knew how important this honor was to Sam. How could he not show up? Most family would be ecstatic to find out their son had graduated valedictorian and wanted to go to college. Oh no, his messed-up family couldn’t even be bothered to show up to his graduation. What was wrong with wanting to be normal? To have a good job? To help people but not be worrying about dying in the process? It not like he was asking the impossible. Sam watched as the crowd dispersed to be with their loved ones – leaving him alone. He took a deep breath. He would just have to listen to his own speech. It was his life. His responsibility. His dream. His future. His choice. He wasn’t going to let anyone hold him back. He was already alone. So he made his choice. Sam hand pull out his phone and wrote.  
Dear Professor Burk  
I would be honored to accept Stanford’s generous invitation.  
Sincerely,  
Sam Winchester  
Sam’s thumb hesitated only a second over the send button but there was no one there to stop him.  
The impala nearly took out a couple of graduates as it fishtailed into the highschool parking lot. Late. Late . Late! Growled Dean. Dean had been taking care of a rawhead in the next town over. He had been rushing to make it back in time for Sam graduation. Knowing that missing the graduation would be more dangerous than any monster he had ever faced. But haste makes a bloody mess. He had driven with one hand for the past 6 hours and the other pressed tightly across his ribs. Breathing deep was a dangerous blacking out experience. Dean clenched his teeth as he reached for the door handle with his right hand twisting his upper body so he would not have to remove his left arm from it position pressed up against his side. He still had ten minutes before the graduation walk started he could still make it if he fast hobbled. But the movement made his side catch fire and his vision to coal.   
Dean blinked in a moment of utter confusion. He wiped the drool from the leather door. Why was he sleeping in the impala? The high-pitched laugh of a chick drew his gaze to the brick building in front of him. School. Sam. Graduation. 2min! He could still make it! His hand pulled at the door pushing it opening it a crack but a heavy weight on his shoulders over balanced him back into the car. The pain in his side was gone but his shirt felt too tight. The seams cut into his skin cutting off circulation and restricting breathing.  
“Son of a *&%!” cursed Dean. He couldn’t go out there like this! Now fully grown they reached a span of six feet even. Tightly closed against his back the top of his wings arched over his shoulders and the primary feather peaked out of the bottom of his shirt. If he were standing they would nearly reach his knees. The days of t-shirts and flannels hiding their expanse were over. He thought wistfully of Dad’s too large leather jacket but it wasn’t currently in the impala. Why had he passed out? He knew better. The stupid things always grew back when he was out. Sam would forgive him for missing his graduation right?


	17. Rift

Sam stormed through the motel door that afternoon. He had taken the bus home not even bothering to check the parking lot for the Impala. His graduation gown was tossed in a dumpster outside the highschool. There was no point in keeping it. It would be impractical when packing. Besides he had plans to earn another in four years. The motel that they were staying at offered lodgings with separate rooms cheap enough for even the Winchester budget to afford because of the ugly neighborhood. Sam was the first one home so he marched to his ‘room’ and slammed the door. Angry tears threating to fall. He felt like hitting something. He didn’t understand why it bothered him so much that Dean had missed the graduation. It was just a stupid ceremony. But Dean couldn’t bother to be there for Sam once in his life? Sam grabbed his duffel from under his bed and started tossing everything he owned inside. It wasn’t much; a pile of plaid, a small stack of books, and an assortment of weapons. He paused hand on the sawed off shot gun. The purpose of his new life was to be normal so he removed the shot gun and handgun from the duffel. He was going to California on public transportation after all. He drew the line at leaving behind the hunting knife which he hid at the bottom of the duffel. He wanted to be normal not stupid. Two sharp knocks rattled the closed door behind Sam. It wasn’t the demanding heart stopping pounding of his father. So without thinking Sam walked over and placed his hand on the knob. He stop a moment before turning the cool metal. Dean hadn’t came to his graduation. And if he didn’t care enough to attend that, he certainty would never understand Sam going off to college. Instead Sam stood resting his forehead against the wood of the door.  
“Heya Sam? Can I come in?” asks Dean placing his palm on the door. Hoping against hope that Sam wouldn’t be too angry. No answer came from within. Signing Dean continued.  
“I’m sorry for missing your big day Sammy. There was this rawhead and I couldn’t get back in time.”  
“Was she worth it? I hope this was hot. Don’t &%$! Lie to me Dean.” Sam’s voice cracked but the angry. His anger was white hot through the door that separated the brothers.  
“I’m not lying!” Dean snapped back “I was on a hunt. Peoples lives were in danger. I was planning to make it but it but it got messy.”  
The door flew inward but Dean didn’t have time to be grateful. Sam hit him like an oncoming moose slamming the smaller brother into the wall across from his door by his fisted shirt front.  
“I tracked your phone Dean when it was getting close to time to start the ceremony.”  
Awww %$@#! Dean could see were his conservation was going and it was not in his favor. Sam lips were pulled back in a sneer and the way he held Dean up against the wall rubbed against the fresh lacerations on his back.  
“You were in the school parking lot for a good ten minutes before the ceremony. What was the raw head magically transported from Middletown to the high school parking lot or did some hot chick walked by and you got distracted?”  
Sam slam Dean against the wall one more time before turning his back on his brother and striding back into his room.  
“This isn’t a family this is a military camp and if it isn’t disbanded its going to get us killed.”  
Dean slide to the floor after Sam slammed the door trying to get enough air into his lungs to get his watery vision to clear.


	18. There is no Place that is Home

A week later Sam hurried through the kitchen to the entrance way. He had opened the door to freedom one foot over the threshold and a heavy duffel over his shoulder when a voice called his name.  
“Where to you think you are going boy.” Sam had half hoped he would be stopped. Just not by his father. Dean might have the slim chance in convincing Sam to stay. John made his hackles rise. Shoulders square Sam half turned back. Muscles taught, fist balled, weight centered Sam stood his ground.   
“Leaving. Don’t try and stop me.” Sam was now taller than his father by several inches. John sported the muscle mass that came with age but a fight would not end with a clear winner.   
“Ungrateful brat. Your Mom gave everything for you boys and what? You just gonna let her killer walk?” John growled taking a step toward Sam. Sam didn’t budge.  
“Mom’s dead. Killing whatever monster that murdered her will not bring her back. And besides do you think she would want this life for us? Some backwoods uneducated criminals-killing machines?” A stride forward and he was glaring down at his father. “You know this isn’t going to end with the monster that killed Mom. It going to end with someone six feet deep. I’m not planning to leave hunting in a body bag. I’m gone. You try and stop me. I win. I’m gone. You win I get the shit beaten out of me. I sneak out the first time you turn your back. I’m done with the family business and I’m done with this family.”  
John jaw sets but then he did the unthinkable. He steps back. Sam after all is his pride and joy. His human son. He only wanted to make him strong and he has. Mission accomplished. He was a little miffed that Sam wanted out but not surprised. Sam had always loved his books. The big nerd was meant for theoretical mobo jumbo not the grunt work.   
“If you walk out that door don’t come back.” Sam turned march out over the threshold.  
“Don’t worry that won’t happen.”  
“It going to destroy your brother.”  
Sam swallowed hard. “Me staying won’t change that. At least both of us won’t waste our lives.” The youngest Winchester didn’t look back even when he heard the rumble of the returning Impala in fact he walked a bit faster.


	19. Left Behind

Dean jogs up the front steps a grin plastered lopsided across his face. Sammy was going to love this! Well maybe not as much as Dean but he was sure to get a kick out of Ghostbusters even if he pretended, he was too cool for the film. Dean slowed as he pushed the door in; movie clutched in his left hand. John met Dean’s gaze from the couch, bottle clutched in one fist. The smell of alcohol heavy in the motel. Dean averted his gaze and held the movie behind his thigh hoping to make his way to Sam room without attracting attention to himself.  
“You’re too late,” spat John gesturing to Dean and the door with the bottle “He’s gone”  
It felt like Dean had been shot.  
He couldn’t get air into his lungs.  
The world seemed to slow. Dad didn’t have to specify who the he was; Dean could feel the absence like a hole in his chest. Dean watched in detachment as John whipped the glass bottle at the door frame near his head. He wondered in disinterest if John had missed or if he had meant to hit the wall. A shard of glass caught Dean above the eye causing warm blood to dribble down into his vision, the rest exploded across the floor like permanent black ice.  
“He wanted out. Says this life too dangerous would have gotten killed. And whose job was it to protect him? Whose job was it to watch his back? One job and you couldn’t even do that right.” John was on his feet and across the room. Before Dean knew what was happening John had slugged him in the face. Something in his nose made a crunching sound that echoed in his skull.  
“This is your fault. Your brother is gone and its all your fault. You frugly freak.” Dean raised his arms to protect his head but John just grabbed his shoulder and shoved him down as he brought up his knee. Green eyes widened as something gave way in his chest.  
Sam is gone.  
Need to find Sam.  
So Dean did what he had never dared dreamed about. He snapped out a front kick of his own. His boot collided with John midriffed. John had the same reaction as if he had been hit by a small car. His body went flying clean over the small coffee table and coming to sudden halt on the wall above the coach before dropping to the floor. A small crater in the plaster wall marking the original landing zone.  
One arm rapped protective around his chest he wiped the blood out of his eyes with his forearm smearing crimson across his forehead. With a herculean effort he shoved the door open stumbling back into the motel parking lot.  
Sam…. Which way… Where… would Sam go? School, college. !*&% why were there so many schools?  
His hands were slick on the metal of the impala. Sam was smart. Right little genius nerd. Had to be ivy league. That narrowed it down. He could ask Sam’s teachers where he applied. Or hack Sam email account.  
He was seated in the Impala keys in the ignition when he stopped. He wanted Sam. But did Sam want him? Sam wanted normal and safe. Dean was a freak that fit neither of those requirements. Sam was better off without him. Everyone was better off without him. Dean leaned back the pain not just physical anymore.  
The drive side door flew open and John hand clamped around Dean ankle dragging him physical from the car on to the pavement. Dean didn’t try to stop his fall even when his head hit the side of his beloved car. He hadn’t protected Sam. This is what he deserved.  
John boot collided with Dean abdomen again and again. Dean curled in to a fetal position. He just wanted it to stop. He wanted it all to stop.  
“How dare you raise your hand to me boy. I *&^! Kill you! you monster.”  
“Hey! Step back from the boy.” The shout came with the unmistakable sound of a shot gun cocking. “I will shoot you if you do not step back.”  
John growled low in his throat. John might be abusive and a horrible human being but he wasn’t stupid. Stepping back he took in the new comer.  
“Hands behind your head. Lay on the ground.” The cop grip on her gun was steady and face grim. John did as he was told. A shotgun in the hands of a professional could end his life just as easily as any monster. The officer raised a radio to her lips.  
“Motel on 58th I need back up and an ambulance”  
When Officer Tyler had secured the attacker in the back of her cop car she dropped beside the shadow of the young man on the pavement.  
“Crap,” What was black and white and red all over? Well a newspaper, a penguin in a blender and this young man’s face. His skin was paper pale and covered in crimson. A nasty black bruise had already claimed his felt eye swelling it shut. Tyler rolled the young man onto his back after making sure his airway was clear. Ear hovering over the boy’s lips and two finger pressed lightly under his jaw she felt for signs of life. A thready beat pumped against her fingers but that was where the good news ended. Because no matter how close she got to those lips she could not feel the puff of air against her skin or see the rise and fall of the victim’s chest.  
Crap, Crap, crap. She had first aid classes but like everyone she had hoped they would always be a waste of time. Where were the paramedics? This was their job. Please don’t die on me kid. You ‘re too young. Who would drive your sweet ride? Look at you, the ladies would totally miss you. The officer tilted the guys head back opening his air way. Taking a deep breath, she pressed her lips to his and exhaled. She continued. Praying for the EMTs to hurry up. Come on my first kiss wasn’t suppose to be a literally drop-dead gorgeous guy.


	20. Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thanks for the comments and kudos! They always make my day and motivate me to continue to write. I hope you all like this next part. If you have time let me know what you think of the chapter or the story in general. I love to hear theories or prompts suggestions. I can't promise anything I do have a lot written and have a plan on how it will go but nothing is completely set in stone. Enjoy!

Her whole body was trembling when the paramedic finally shoved her aside and took over. Somehow Tyler found herself alone in the abandon parking lot. The ambulance long gone on a race against time. She was about to head back to her car when she noticed the small rectangular black object on the classic car’s floor. Snatching the black cell up she flicked the screen; bring up the emergency ICE number. She was a professional she could hand this. But some how calling seemed even harder than the rescue itself. She would want someone to let her parents know if anything happened to her. The phone rang once before a gruff hello came over the line.  
“Dean?” The voice asked.  
“Sir, is Dean a boy in his twenty who owns a black impala?”  
“Who is this? Why do you have Dean’s phone?”  
“Sir, I need you to remain calm. I am Officer Jaina Tyler. I am calling you because you were the emergency contact number in this phone. A young man was attacked and badly injured next to this car.” There was a sharp inhale and the sound of something shattering on the other end of the phone.  
“How bad is he?”  
“He’s in the best hands. He is being rushed to Hope Central Hospital as we speak.”  
“Balls. I’m on my way.”  
She pocketed the phone after the connection died and headed back to her vehicle. It wasn’t until she was just a few feet away that she realized what was wrong. The back door to the squad car hung open. A pair of open cuffs glinted on the asphalt from the street light. Shit. 

Not going to pass out. Can’t pass out. Can’t… Wait what was he not supposed to be doing again? Why was everyone so tall? Oh he was on his back. The paramedic forced the oxygen mask over Dean’s face.  
“Son, we got you. We are going to take good care of you.”  
Dark lashes fluttered in confusion. His chest felt like it was being used to hold up bricks. The lights and med staff rushed around him pinching and prodding. He waved off the hovering strangers at least he attempted too his arm never made it high enough to enter his field of vision. The motion made him want to curl into his side.   
“Don’t move cutie,” ordered the graying middle aged woman in the paramedic uniform. Taking his hand in hers and gently pushing it down. Her face was lined with worry and she was sure she had just lost any remaining color in her hair. “Why don’t you close those pretty eyes and get some beauty sleep?” Dean blinked hard trying to focus on the source of the voice but the faces around him continued to jump around like a scratched DVD. No sleep was the last thing Dean wanted to do… He couldn’t pass out… Bad idea, even if he would wake completely healed. No matter how bad he had been injured in the past he could sleep it off. Literally, broken bones righted themselves with a little nap. That begged the question could he die? The way things were going he would say yes. If he willed himself awake and his heart stopped would he die? Or was there simply a limit to his body’s unnatural ability to heal itself? His money was on yes but that wasn’t his major concern. No, the major concern was that his body had always healed all physical damaged in the past if he passed out. If he passed out he would wake with wings. Major problem. They would dissect him for science. And he liked having his internal organs inside. Why was the world so dark? Gentle fingers carded through his hair. The soft spikes sicky with sweat and blood were pushed out of his face. Oh. His eyes were closed. With colossal effort he forced his eyes open and the lady tutted.  
She reached for a syringe and prepped it with a sedative. Tapping out the air bubbles with a flick she pressed it into the young man’s elbow depressing the plunger. The needle pinched his skin but it barely registrar with the rest of the pain. That‘s nice. Thought Dean as the numbness spread up and down his arm and across his chest to the rest of his body. The world narrowed to slits as his eyelids grew heavy.   
“No,” hissed Dean through clenched teeth, shoving his hand into his damaged side. The dark exploded with stars and the pain pulled him back from unconsciousness.  
The ambulance screeches to a halt in front of the hospital bay doors and the gurney was rushed to the ICU. The young man started the journey convulsing in pain to weakly rolling back and fourth in denial of rest. The rational part of his brain was having an out of body experience. His one clear thought was that both his father and brother were free and far away from each other and him. A single tear washed a way a small track of blood down his check.   
“Why isn’t he under sedation? He’s going into do surgery.” Asked the doctor pulling alongside the cart white coat fluttering like wings behind the professional.   
“He’s been given the maximum dosage. Any more and we could cause heart arrest.” Gloved fingers pressed lightly against his forehead as cold metal snip his shirt away from his body.  
“Son, if you can hear me please pass out.”  
“Doc, look at these scars.”  
“Stop staring. Our job is to make sure he lives to sport the new ones.”


	21. Home

The battered old pick up came to a traffic blocking halt in front of the hospital doors. The driver side door snapping out, nearly taking out a boy with a cast. The grizzled man threw an apology over his shoulder as he sprinted to the front desk. A few questions later and he was standing in front of Dean’s door a doctor in a white and red lab coat blocking his way. Bobby had never much cared for doctors. Too much paper work involved. However, he figured they were like politicians expect with a right to act pompous. But right now he just wanted the man to move.  
“Mr. Singer I don’t know your relationship with the boy…”  
“I’m his fa…” started Bobby ready to grab the fake ID in his jacket. The doctor raised a hand palm out.  
“And frankly I don’t care as long as you are willing to take responsibility to help him. You are the only person who seems to care or know the boy is in the ER and you showed up so I will take that as proof.”  
Bobby nodded his thanks and tried to move past the man to see how much damage was done. Where was John and more importantly where was Sam? The brothers were inseparable and he feared the worst.   
“Wait, there are some things you should know about the boy’s condition,” sighed the Doctor rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. Bobby’s heart stuttered.  
“The kid just went through surgery for a punctured lung caused by a fractured rib.”  
A normal trophy for a hunter thought Bobby but the doctor wasn’t finished.   
“The nurse pumped him full of enough drugs to knock out a horse but … the kid just refused to pass out. We were afraid anymore and we might stop his heart”  
“wait, you’re saying he was awake for the whole thing?”  
“Yes, we had to tie him down” the doctor stepped aside to let Bobby pass. “Also this is always hard to hear but keep the kid away from sharp objects. The kid was covered in scars and well some had the classic signs of being self-inflicted since there are no signs he was restrained when he received the injuries. After this. Any one would be depressed. Just make sure he doesn’t throw way they miracle he’s been given.”  
Dean’s skin matched the hospital sheets which hid most of his chest and the bandages that were hidden underneath. Bobby sank into the ratty plastic chair next to the bed. He was getting too old for this. **&%!! Son, what did he do to you this time? Guilt, for never being able to track down the trio turned the old man’s stomach. He had searched for years but John was many things but easy to find he wasn’t. Bobby covered the pale icy hand with his narled blotchy one careful not to bother the tubes that fed into the vain on the wrist.   
“Careful old man, people might think you are a softy,” the voice sounded more like someone gargling gravel than actual words but to Bobby it was like angel’s singing. Dark lashes blinked slowly contrasting greatly with the chalkiness of his skin.  
“If you ever scare me like that again I will shoot you myself,” the words spoken out of the pent-up fear of the last few hours but as Dean flinched Bobby regretted them immediately. The boy thought he would do it too and it felt like Bobby had stabbed himself. “As it is, you’re underhouse arrest until you’re fifty.”   
Dean’s brows drew together in confusion and it took a few minutes for him to express why. Obviously, the drugs were having some affects in slowing thought processing even if they hadn’t been able to achieve their intended propose of knocking the kid out. “But bobby I don’t have… a…ho…home.”   
Bobby glared until he was sure he had Dean’s full attention. “Of course, you do idjet. It called Singer Salvage yard and we will be going there as soon as the doc give the ok.”  
Dean’s grin could only be described as dopy or possibly as a commercial for whatever toothpaste the boy used. “Goooooing home,” bubbled Dean happily. The kid was clearly higher than a kite his gaze drifting over Bobby’s head seeing something only he could follow. “Hooome sweet hooome…” continued Dean in a childlike voice. In a slightly sing song tone he continued his tangent “Sweet home Alllabama.”  
“More or less, will be there soon,” offered Bobby. Smile vanishing Dean demanded,  
“Now. Home now.” He proceeded to try and sit up and pushed Bobby off him with surprising force.  
“Wait no. You aren’t well enough! You just had surgery. Lay back down you idijot!” ordered Bobby. Mind looking franticly for a reason for Dean to want to stay. “Where is Sam? How will he find you if you leave.” It was the wrong thing to say. Any life in Dean’s eye dimed and he wouldn’t look at Bobby as he spoke, fixing on a spot on the ceiling.   
“Sam left. He’s not coming back.”  
Bobby shallowed hard. His first thought was good for Sam. He had gotten out. He had often hoped the boys would do it together. Bobby knew it had been an impossibly dream. Dean valued family above all else he would never leave unless forced. Which made being left by Sam the worst case scenario. Suddenly, the doctors last words held new weight. Bobby hated to ask it but he needed to know.  
“Dean, where’s John? Where your father?”   
“He’s mad. My fault Sam left. But Dad wouldn’t leave. He’s coming back,” answered Dean voice flat. That sealed it. They were leaving now.   
The old pickup truck hightailed it out of there with one more passenger minutes later.


	22. The Crossroads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thanks for the wonderful comments and kudos! They always make my day. Hope you enjoy this latest chapter and remember I write for me I post for you so please leave a comment or kudo if you think I deserve a tip.

Despite the silence in the car Dean eyes stayed stubbornly open for the 5-hour drive. His head lolled against the cool glass of the passenger window in exhaustion. At one-point Bobby had offered the kid a cup of water laced with sleeping pills but the boy had quirked an eye brow and refused. Going back to staring into the middle distance.   
The gravel crunched and spit under the tires as they pulled up to the house. Bobby turned the key hopping out and dashed around to the passenger side door just in time to catch the lad under the armpits as his knees buckled under him. Despite his muscular appearance Dean was surprising light and Bobby was able to transfer him to the guest bedroom that had been his just a few year ago. A few minutes later he had gotten the kid tucked in and after a few drinks of the good stuff Bobby himself fell exhausted into a heavy slumber in the bed’s side chair.  
Bobby groaned stretching in his bed. His head felt like a hippo had started tap lessons in his cranium but the covers were warm. When he woke again a few moments later from the uncomfortableness of wearing jeans to bed he wondered why he hadn’t changed into his sleeping clothes? What had he been doing yesterday? Obviously drinking. He had been working on the old convertible… the phone had rung… DEAN!  
Snapping bolt upright he stumbled out of bed nearly knocking the full glass of water off the side table. He flew down the short all to the guestroom where he had left the kid. The covers were pulled back and the bed was empty. Bobby had a sudden deja vie of John stealing his boys away all those years ago. In a panic, he rushed to the front door grabbing his shot gun on his way.  
“Want some bacon?” came a cheerful voice from the kitchen. Bobby spun month open.   
“I just got out of the hospital mind pointing that somewhere else?” Dean said, nodding at the shotgun which Bobby quickly redirected to the ground. If Dean had been starting to resemble the ghost of Christmas future last night he look more like he had just walk off the pages of a kitchen magazine with the model pretending that it was their kitchen this morning. With one key difference: Dean knew how to cook.   
“Better close your mouth before you catch a fly” Dean said turning back to his eggs turning them over with a spatula.   
“Balls kid! How? You were looking like one of the things we hunt yesterday”   
“Goodnight sleep and a little barrel of caffeine. Miracle cure.” Dean gestured with the mug he held in his left hand at Bobby before taking a gulp. Bobby was having trouble processing. The kid hadn’t been able to walk by himself yesterday. Dean strode confidently towards Bobby dropping a plate of eggs in front of the older man.   
The proof that some sort supernatural deal had healed Dean was undeniable. For whatever cause the kid was better and while Bobby did plan to use a microscope on his gift horse. It was a gift none the less and Bobby was having a hard time thinking of things he won’t have done to pay the price. However, while the outer wounds might be gone. Bobby didn’t believe for a moment that there wasn’t a Sam shaped hole in Dean’s heart.   
Bobby spent the next few weeks doing what he did best-poking and prodding for the supernatural that had healed Dean and trying and failing to take care of him. Dean spent the time doing what he did best-burying his emotions in work and alcohol. When he wasn’t in his room staring listlessly into the middle distance with a barely touched bottle within arms reach, he was rebuilding an all-terrain four wheeler and acting painfully happy. One of these times when Dean was out Bobby had combed every crossroad within driving distance. He had taken a shovel to the center of each. The fear that Dean had made a deal lessened with every empty hole. It was the twenty-third crossroads with the twenty-third hole when his shovel make a clinking sound as it connected with something buried in the earth. Sweat from more than just the backbreaking work appeared on Bobby’s forehead as he dusted off the little tin box and popped the lid. A drivers license was nested in the box with the other gory components of what could only be identified as a demon deal. Bobby snatched up the card it was dirty only showing the last name clearly- Winchester.


	23. The Contract

A week earlier on the same crossroad in the dying rays of the sun a Winchester knelt in the dust. Scooping handfuls of dirt over the little box that contained his drivers license. He clambered to his feet making a half hearted attempt to brush off the dust that clung to his jeans. A dead heat hung in the air as if the breeze was afraid to cross the road. One might say the breeze had the right idea. The dusk was quiet no chirping crickets, not even the faint buzz of a mosquito. Only man was desperate or stupid enough to make a deal with a demon. The second man appeared between one blink and the next.   
“I know what you are and I know what you can do,” growled the Winchester. The demon smiled stance wide and relaxed just a few feet in front of the summoner. The demon wore a fitted black suit complete with a black tie which was not marred by a speck of dust.  
“Its so nice to be recognized these days. Humans have a nasty disrespect for their betters.” The demon’s eyes flashed red.  
“I’m here to deal not chat.” Winchester spat getting in the demon’s personal space. The two men were nearly nose to nose but the demon looked less than impressed. Picking nonexistent lint from his jacket.  
“So what will it be? Money? A girl? Talent? Fame? A pet hippo? I’ve heard it all. I mean it too. A roll of ducktape up your ex’s nose? Paying your phone bill on time? An extra season of your favorite show? Three inches on your…”  
“I want the location on the yellow eyed demon and I’m not paying.” A sharp click accompanied the demand as the colt was cocked next to the demon’s head. The demon didn’t flinch but he studied the gun in interest.  
“Now you have my attention. I think we can come to a much more lucrative contract.”  
“I want the head of the demon that murdered my wife.”  
“Well I want a scotch. We don’t always get what we want. I can’t promise a head but I can give a location for the right price.”  
“Your life.”  
“You really know how to barter don’t you. No, I’ll give a location for a location. Here’s the thing. I also know who and what you are John Winchester.”  
“Not my soul?” Hissed John surprised but not lowering the gun. His suspicioning growing.  
The demon scuffed his leather shoes in the sand with a shrug. “Souls are like personal nukes. They symbolize power and wealth but you need an awful lot to play in the big leagues. One more is not going to shift the power balance in my favor. I’m looking for a tactical advantage. Information. Let just say I want to be the one holding the ace and not the joker.”   
There was another reason that the demon didn’t want the Winchester’s soul. While he had doubts about the purity, he didn’t want a righteous man in hell. He personally was not a fan of Azazel apocalypse plan. Bringing back Lucifer, would only make the path to the throne all but impossibly for someone of his power grade despite his cunning.   
“What are you looking for?” asked John warily.  
“Who. Am I looking for. I want the location of your children. As I am sure you have noticed by now one of your children is a bit of a demon child. Strange nonhuman abilities… It must have come as such a disappoint for a hunter such as yourself.” John face hardened but he didn’t protest. “What do you want with him.”  
“You see ‘yellow eyes’ as you call him has plans for the demon brat. Want’s him to lead a demonic army. I would assume this would go against your strict moral code as a hunter. So I would be actually doing you a favor if I disposed of the child. Think about it. Saving thousand at the cost of one demon spawn child. And beside you would still have your little angel child. The good son.”  
John was silent for a moment. “Here the deal. You tell me the location of the yellow eyed demon. I give you the location of Dean and you have to swear Sam won’t be harmed.”  
“Dean the child with the demon powers?”  
“Yes,” agreed John. He was doing the world a favor. Dean was unnatural made be the sacrifice would be enough to purify the nonhumanness of his son’s soul.  
“Fine, to seal the deal; contract or kiss?” asked the demon raising both eyebrows suggestively.  
“Contract.” Grunted john.   
“Are you homophobic or racist? I can’t decide.” The demon let it go after Joh just glared in response to the comment and produced a parchment scroll out from under his coat. With an impossibly flick of the wrist a blood red quill appeared in his hand and with a flourish the demon signed across the bottom of the contract. The aged contract was passed into John rough hands where he signed with little fanfair beneath the elegant crimson swirls that spelled out Crowley, that would make any school girl envious.  
The demon and the Winchester split ways without another word after locations were exchanged. But for Crowley the deal was far from done. He was a business demon after all and knew the best way to turn a profit was to haggle with more than one party.   
With a snap of his fingers he appeared in the small orchard in Upstate new York. The air was thick with the sound of a thousand little wings humming as they worked but the sound quickly withdrew as the worker bees sensed evil in their garden. Crowley glanced to his right where a man in a tan trench coat stood like a statue watching the hive. The man hadn’t flinched at the demon’s sudden appearance not even turning to acknowledge him.  
“I have something that might interest you,” spoke Crowley also watching the bees but he didn’t see what was so fascinating about watching the insects.  
“I don’t deal with the likes of you.” Castiel replied wings shifting uncomfortably under the coat that hid them. Crowley rolled his eyes.  
“How many times do I have to state that we are on the same bloody side! Yes, maybe our motives for not wanting the apocalypse are a little different. You want your pet human safe and I want a shorter line to the throne but the fact remains neither of us want Lucifer and Michel free. You have to face facts you are a little short one allies and I don’t have the current juice to take down Azazel. In fact, I’m not even offering you a deal I am GIVING you information for FREE! I am being positively angelic and it disgust me!” Crowley shouted at the angel in annoyance. Castiel tilted his head to the side to study the demon to indicate he was listening but not impressed.  
“Your freaky feathered Winchester pet is in California at Stanford no less. Now you can go tame him etc. and in general just keep him away from Heaven and I have the location of the demon blood child.”  
“You will destroy that abomination.” Castiel commanded.  
“Of course. You can’t have a one -sided boss fight and unlike you I rather not have a more powerful creature live to their full potential.”  
Castiel nodded once and with the flap of wings and the faint smell of sulfur the angel and demon vanished on their mission to bring an end to the end of times.


	24. Broken Winged Bird

Well, if John had sold his soul to save Dean it might have caused a paradox in Bobby’s opinion. It would have been the one thing that could possibly redeem John from the suffering he had caused but in so doing he would have doom himself to hell despite the final good deed. Bobby decided not to worry about it as long as Dean remained healthy and away from his father. Bobby had started giving Dean some space now that he was fairly certain that the boy himself hadn’t done anything drastic but he was still keeping a close eye on the depressed lad. Weary from a long day of dusty digging Bobby trudged up the short fight of stairs to the single shared bathroom in the old house. The last rays of the dying sun warmed the wooden rail and the closed door to the guest room where Dean had turned in early. Bobby let the warm water in the sink smear the dirt on his palms and wash it down the drain for a good minute just enjoying the soothing feeling of the water on his dry and gritty palms. He cursed as he reached for the soap and clumsily knocked the soap bar on to the floor where it slipped under the sink like a large slimy slug leaving a wet trail of goo. With a groan and his hands on his knees Bobby crouched down to grab the bar. The underside if the cabinet that held the sink was just plain white painted wood and the soap bar was easily found in the small space but a glint of reflected light from the setting sun caught something metal taped to the bottom of the cabinet. The object confused Bobby for a mere moment before it made him physically ill. It was a box cutter but the short metal blade’s edge looked like it had rusted. Bobby knew better the rest of the tool was too new and shiny to be rusting. It was dry blood that coated the edge of the blade. The doctor’s words about depression came flooding back and a very new fear for Dean took place in the old man’s heart. His first instinct was to kick Dean ass then yell at him then hug in that order. A deep breath later Bobby had peeled the tape away and pocketed the box cutter along with ever other sharp blade and edge on the second floor. Which was quite a feat in a hunter’s household. He had collected 4 razors, a hunting knife, a machete, and butcher’s blade. Then he took up his post in the old wooden chair at the base of the stairs into the kitchen where he could clearly see Dean’s door and the door to the bathroom. Then the old hunter did his job. He waited for his prey. 

Dean was running. Feet pounding on packed dirt trail surrounded by dark misty forest. At the edge of his vision a brown mop of shaggy hair bounced away with the looping gate of ridiculously long legs.   
“SAM! Wait!” Dean panted, muscles straining to push him faster. Open air met his feet as he stumbled over the cliff edge at a break neck speed. He tried desperately to back-up but his wings felt like anchors overbalancing him and pulling him down- down- down. The wind whipped passed his face, cruelly stealing his breath. White feathers billowed up around him, as he plummeted, as useful as an inverted parachute.   
He jerked awake. Muscles spasming violently against the mattress instead of hard ground. Bobby’s house. Sam left. Dad’s gone. Dean just lay in bed for another hour watching the sun rise without any real emotion on the outside. He felt empty and pointless. A dead weight that Bobby was forced to deal with. He should just crawl under a rock somewhere so Bobby didn’t have to deal with him. It was nearly 6am when Dean finally dragged himself out of bed in the hope that the late sleeping Bobby would still be asleep while he dealt with the wings that had ruined his life. The things dragged behind him like a depressed cape. Cocooning himself in a red blanket and looking like an eskimo but feather safely hidden from view he exited his room; headed toward the bathroom. He felt like batman with his cape dragging along behind him. Though he did have a better jaw line than Christian Bale if he did say so himself. He would look awesome in a cowl. The whole no gun rule was ridiculous through. Monsters even human ones needed to be put down and whether it was via a knife or a gun dead was dead. He would be more of a gun slinging batman like Jason Todd. He would make an outstanding red hood.  
He grunts good morning to Bobby as he catches his eye on his way to the restroom he pulls the blanket a little tighter over his shoulders. In one practice motion he the bathroom door is shut and locked. Releasing the blanket, it falls to the floor in a soft pile. He rolls out the tense muscles in his bare shoulder; wings flexing with the motion. Crouching down he blindly reaches searching for the box cutter under the sink. Finger tips finding nothing but smooth wood he frowns and awkwardly looks under the sink cabinet ear almost pressed to the floor but the tool is gone. A quick panicked search of the floor and the rest of the bathroom and it is clear the tool has been taken not fallen.  
The blanket feels suffocating as he once again snatched it up and threw it over his shoulders and tosses open the bathroom door. He could grab his hunting knife it should still be in his bag. One step out of the bathroom and the trap was sprung.  
“Morning. Lost something son,” growled Bobby. The older hunter stood arms crossed blocking Dean’s path and corning him with only the bathroom at his back.   
“No. Let me pass.” Buffed Dean turning his shoulders sideways to try and edge passed Bobby and escape the hunter into his room. Willing the traitorous appendages to stick as close to his back as possible.   
“Would you care to explain this?” Bobby displayed the gory box cutter in his palm and taking a step into Dean’s personal space. Keep calm; lie. He tried to school his features remain expressionless. For goodness sake he lied for a living. But his breath had hitched at the first sight of the blade. Besides he might be a professional liar but Bobby was the con artist.   
“Dean, please tell me that…Son I know that you had it rough but you have to know that things can get better. You have people who care about you. I …. Please tell me you haven’t been cutting yourself.” Bobby was no better at expressing emotion than the Winchesters and his voice broke a few times as he spoke and Dean averted his eyes and swallowed hard. Which was not quelling any of Bobby’s fears.  
“Bobby, I’m not.” Insisted Dean physically pushing passed Bobby to get to his room.  
“Then prove it.” Bobby reached out before Dean could stop him and grabbed a fist full of the blanket and ripping it back off Dean’s arm and shoulder gaze sweeping up the well muscled forearm and bicep to look for the tell-tale sign of parallel scars. Dean’s fair skin was marked with every type of scar except the ones Bobby had expected. He was suddenly remined of incident a few years earlier where he had first seen many of these scars but more had been added to the extensive collection. He might have spent more time raging over the abuse marks if he hadn’t died and gone to heaven. There was an angel standing in front of him.   
Dean made a desperate grab for the blanket but it was too late. His left wing tip had slipped out from its hiding place and Bobby eyes had zeroed in on the feathers. Heart in his throat Dean tried to flee but Bobby snatched his wrist twisting and putting pressure on his elbow forcing him to his knees and causing the rest of the blanket to collapse to the floor freeing feathers galore. White and blue shifting in a soft sea that hung a few inches form the bare muscles of Dean’s back. Bobby was a hunter. Dean was one of the things he hunted. He had been lucky with his Dad. His Dad had loved him too much to do what needed to be gone. Bobby was sure to finish the job. Might as well let him do it too. Dean went absolutely limp with the thought. He had nothing and no one now. Mom was dead. Dad was gone. Sam had left and now Bobby hated him too.  
Ok. So this was not how Bobby had imagined his day going and his was not the conversation he had imagined himself having with the boy. So the boy had wings? Bobby was sure if the boy had wings yesterday, he would have noticed because there was no way the estimated 6 foot wing span could have been hidden beneath the white t-shirt Dean had been working in yesterday. He had placed the boy in an arm lock to keep him from escaping the conversation in typical Dean fashion wanting to deal with what ever curse or supernatural magic this was on his own. But he should have known better but finding out the Dean had wings had come as a shock of course but granted it wasn’t the strangest thing too happen in Singer life by far. No, that honor still belonged to the time traveling UFO that was shaped like a London police box but that was besides the point. No what mattered now was trying to calm the panicking boy down. Dean struggled to get enough air as he wheezed.  
“Bobby…I know I am a monster. But I am trying to do good. I’ve hunted so many things saved so many people to make up for it. I can be useful. Please don’t…”  
Bobby felt sick. He was going to gut John if he ever saw him again for telling his son he was a monster but that did beg the question about how long Dean had been sporting the wings.   
“Son. You’re not a monster. And I’m not going to hurt you.” mutter bobby awkwardly releasing his grip on Dean’s elbow and wrapping his arm around Dean being careful not to literally ruffle any feathers in the attempted hug. The boy went absolutely limp in his arms.  
“I can look normal. I cut them off myself after they regrow.” Offered Dean hopefully maybe Bobby would let him stay after all. Bobby dropped the boxcutter in disgust as if it burned him.  
“*&^%!! absolutely not” Dean flinched away as if expecting a blow. Bobby shock his head in frustration. So the wings grew back? “There will be no more cutting.”  
“But,”  
“No buts, there will be plenty of research but no more cutting kid.”  
When the shaking finally stopped and the tears tracks had dried. Dean let Bobby steer him to the down stair couch and shove a hot cup of coffee into his hand. He felt sort of numb. Like all emotion had poured out of him and the relief he felt towards Bobby’s calm acceptance towards him was overwhelming but still tinged with suspicion. Bobby hadn’t made a move at him besides eyeing his wings critically and talking at him constantly and he eventually started to relax. It was odd trying to sit on the couch with his wings. It was like trying to sit down with a backpack. They pushed him forward to the edge of the seat pressed up against the backrest. Eventually he relaxed enough to allow them to half open to either side so he could lean back into the couch.   
“The sowing machine is in the attic…don’t look at me like that kid, sowing is an important skill..”  
For the first time since in days a weak smile curled the edges of Dean lips. The smart-ass remark not quite making it out but definitely crossing his mind.  
“I think if we cut slits in the back of your shirts, we can carefully get your wings through so you can spare the girls from fainting. I have an old leather trench coat for public but you will have to take it off to fly.”  
Dean nearly snorted his coffee. Coughing on the hot liquid he managed.  
“I can’t fly.”  
Bobby just gave him a look like he was slow. “Dean, those aren’t paper weights attached to your back.” Bobby was now making a mental check list. It went something like this: 1) Keep Dean from mutilating himself, 2) fix Dean wardrobe, 3) research, 4) push the kid off a cliff and watch him fly.

 

Author's Note:  
Jensen Ackles voiced the red hood in the animated Batman movie Under the red Hood. He also did a photoshoot in a full red hood costume and has said multiple times that he would like to play him in a DC movie. I hope he does. He would be perfect for the role.


	25. Fire Power

Sam fingers tapped madly on the well-worn keys of laptop. The essay was due tomorrow and he had only started it an hour ago. It was an argument essay meant to be on a controversial topic to practice writing and debate both important skills for a prelaw-student. The English professor had promised he would not grade on topic and only on logic and writing. So Sam decided to be truthful.  
Guns are the great equalizers. Sam wrote. There are two main arguments against guns. The first is that if they are banned or heavily restricted crimes involving guns will decrease. The second is that that if they should be removed because they are too easy to use thus accidents with children are too likely. In the following evidence will be found to support the right of the people to bare-arms.  
If you are concerned with the first case lets consider who obeys the laws. Yes, restricting guns would stop law abiding citizens from having as many guns. But murder is just as illegal as stealing a gun, so do you really believe that the same person who is willing to commit a crime is going to be concerned about new restriction on guns? No. Law that make it difficult to buy guns will only inhibit the law-abiding citizens. The people who would use their guns for good, not the ones who would cause pain and suffering. Thus increasing restrictions on gun use would actual increase crime rates as criminals will continue to have access to guns while law abiding citizen have a harder time buying necessary weapons to defend themselves. One might say that despite this logic that there is no proof this would actual be the result. However, there is proof. England can be taken as a case study. They heavily restricted firearms to the point that even their police do not carry. The result? England has much higher crime rates than America.   
Now if your concern is about accidental shooting because of the ease of use of the gun let me remind you that more people accidentally die in car crashes and swimming pools then are accidentally shot. Cars are just as deadly weapons and kill far more people every year and are just as easy to access. Swimming pools rank way higher in accidental deaths especially for children. Pools aren’t being banned or restricted even through they are far less useful. It is just as easy for a child to accidentally take a lung full of water and drown than it is for a child to pull a trigger. Instead of stopping children from swimming and banning dangerous pools. Swim lessons are more popular than ever. Starting at just six months old some parent train their children to be safe in the dangerous environment with infant and toddler swim lessons. So maybe instead of keeping children away from guns they should be taught to use and respect them properly.   
So far here guns have defeated illogical statements of reason they should be band but here is some proof that guns should be more wide spread. A person can’t be a true feminist and want gun restriction. By nature, women are physically on average weaker than men this is fact and can’t be argued. While there are of course exceptions to most rules the average male can still dead lift the world champion female record without too much difficulty. Thus if a woman is cornered by a male attacker. If the male attacker has no weapon, a knife, or a gun the result will almost always be the same. The male will most likely win in all cases. If the women has a knife the male may still be able to win given his physical strength. This is more of a toss up but the male still has by nature an advantage. But the gun is the great equalizer. If you give the either a gun they would win. If you given them each a gun it become fifty fifty and thus equal. A gun allows the weak to defend themselves. It prevents physical strength being the determining factor on who dominates and gives women a change to be equals. In fact, there are only three Olympic sports where men and women have competed as equals at one point and time. These are sailing, horseback riding and shooting. Shooting was once again split by gender in resent years but only because the women were starting to out compete the men and that was painful to the male ego.  
In conclusion restricting or banning guns actually increases crime, teaching children about guns would reduce accidental shooting, and the gun is what has allowed women to truly be men’s equal.   
Sam sighed he would have to cite the actual statistical data later if he wanted to be more convincing but he was feeling lazy for the moment. He had chosen the topic because he and his brother had grown up around guns and gun had more than once save their skins from much deadlier monsters that would have ripped their small family apart. It annoyed him when the young idealistic college students blamed guns as evil. Guns were simply objects and could be used for good or evil. People for some strange reason blame the gun for the evil dead in a shooting but people never blame the bomb but the bomber. A gun is a tool. People are the ones with the capacity for good and evil.   
His dorm room door burst open without a knock and his roommate half fell into the room supported by an angel. The blond drop Randy unharmoniously onto the opposite bed with a huff of annoyance long bouncy air perfectly framing her heart shaped face and bright eyes.  
“Thanks Jennifer,” slurred Randy into his pillow.  
“Its Jessica, you dumbass and don’t call me again I don’t date dead beat drunks,” she whipped around noticing Sam for the first time siting at the desk on the opposite side of the double dorm room.   
“Hi I’mm S-Sam,” stuttered Sam mouth gone suddenly dry. His brain felt like it was overheating this girl was way too hot to be looking at him for this long. This was the kind of girl that Dean got lucky with not Sam. Her lips curled in a smile all too aware of the effect she was having on Sam.  
“Friday night,” she said fixing Sam with a curious gaze.  
“huh,” Sam said intelligently. The excited screams of some drunk college students and too loud Maroon 5 floated through the open window.   
“So what is a guy like you doing alone in his room, when everyone else is with friends partying it up?”  
“Homework,” Sam answered truthfully. He had decided early that he had given up everything to go to school, he was going to make it count. He was going to be successful and have the normal apple pie life and hopeful help a few people along the way.   
On instinct of year of researching the magical Sam snapped the laptop shut. At least he tried to snap the laptop shut a delicate manured hand slipped between the screen and keys keeping it from closing. Sam didn’t stop her from opening it and examining the open word document he was more concerned with proximity of her chest and was trying desperately to focus on her face but it was heard when she was leaning over him to look at the laptop.   
“So you were telling the truth,” Jessica returned the laptop to Sam “Hardworker and honest. Now I can work with that,” Jessica winked at Sam before she grab Sam hand and a pen from his desk writing her phone number on his palm.   
“Call me when you’ve done your homework.” Then she twirled and disappeared out the door leaving a slack jawed Sam.  
The smell of burning plastic shocked Sam out of his daze. Sam glazed down when he felt a slight heat on his leg. His shorts were on fire-literally. Yelping. Sam panted out the fames racing to the bathroom pulling of the clothing and turning on the shower to hose the flames. Standing in the icey water Sam pinched his eye closed waiting for the shock to wear off and the pain from the burns to bring him to his knees. After a few minutes of nothing but slight discomfort at the cold Sam glanced at his bare legs. The skin was unmarked. What was happening to him? Sam ran his hand through his hair hand carefully avoiding the sharp tips of the two horns that curled beneath the mop of brown hair. They were getting bigger he would have to let his hair grow longer if he wanted to continue to hide them. He was going to continue to research what was happening to him but that doesn’t mean he was going to bemoan the problem and not enjoy the perks. His eyes flashed red as he glanced at the scented bathroom candle and with a snap of his fingers the candle spontaneously lit.


	26. Salvage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the awesome comments! Here is a short chapter as a thank you but I will get more posted this long weekend promise!

Day two of Bobby discovering his secret. Dean hadn’t been able to stand the sight of the things that ruined his life. He had gotten his hands on a kitchen knife and Bobby had walked in on a horror scene.  
“I’m a monster Bobby. How can I call myself a hunter if I am one of the things that we hunt!” Dean had yelled, blood smeared up to the elbow and one wing burned to dust the other hacked partly through. It hung half off like a snapped twig and jerked violently as if convulsing.  
Bobby had picked up his shotgun and walked to the open door to the front porch. Confused and angry but curious Dean had stomp after.  
“Kid, cutting off the wings doesn’t make you human and having them doesn’t make you a monster. You are a hunter because you stop evil not because you kill the supernatural. Now you are going to give me that knife or else.”  
“What are you going to do shoot me?” Dean laughed bitterly, “Unless those are special bullets it won’t kill me.”  
“No,” growled Bobby. He pumped the shot gun once before squeezing the trigger. The ground in front of the left rear wheel of the impala exploded as the bullet impacted with the hard packed earth.  
“You wouldn’t”  
“I’d sell that car for spare parts before I let you harm yourself son,” It wasn’t a bluff and Dean knew it. The knife clattered to the porch floor and Bobby helped bandage the stump of the broken wing. It hurt Bobby old heat that the car meant more to the boy than his own body but he would use what ever tactics were necessary.  
Day three at Bobby’s didn’t go much better. Dean groaned into his pillow; smacking his lips together a few times regretting the return to the waking world. Pins and needles screamed in his arms. His right arm was painfully asleep from it unnatural angle behind his back. Soft feathers tickled his bare arms. He tried to rolls onto his back. It quickly becomes apparent that his wrist were tied together behind his back. Being tied up was never a great sign.  
“@#$!%,” crused Dean. Wings flapped wildly trying to flip him from his position on his stomach doing a good impression of a beetle trapped on its back with its legs waving helplessly in the air. One wing had grown back between his bound arms and the other was under his arm so he was doing a brilliant one man twister game.  
“Good morning sunshine,” greeted Bobby leaning on the door frame.  
“Untie me!” growled Dean with as much venom as one could flat on his stomach.  
“Not until you can be trusted not to harm yourself. You might want to find a sense of self-preservation soon or go easy on the liquid”  
Dean slammed his face into his pillow with a growl.  
An hour later Dean was unceremoniously bundled into Bobby pickup-truck; hands still trapped behind his back. A long leather coat hid the white feathers from view.  
“Where are we going?”  
“Camping.” Now Dean looked at Bobby as if the older man had sprouted wings. In the sense of what the heck not in the sense that Bobby was an angel. Bobby was too grumpy to be an angel.  
“What? Why?”  
“Because you need to learn to fly and at this time of year the camp ground is closed. Also there is a simple job in the camp ground. Plus I need a vacation. No I deserve a vacation.” Bobby stated putting the old car into drive. He had hidden so many weapons over the years in his house that even he had forgotten where some of them where and thus a cabin would give Dean less opportunity to lay hands on a blade.  
“FLY! I can’t fly!” said Dean alarmed. His face turning the same shade of green as his irises.


	27. Leap of Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have I told you guys how much I love getting comments! They truly make my day!   
> aeroclash- I am glad you caught the Doctor who reference. I'm a huge fangirl and have included a few more reference to other things in upcoming chapters.  
>  Virginia+Louise+Register and Leadams03 - Thanks for the continuing support. I am glad you are enjoying this story.  
>  I hope all of you readers enjoy the next chapters.

“This is humiliating.” Grumbled Dean glaring at the wood chips ten feet below his booted feet.  
“Would you have preferred a cliff? Ducklings are just shoved off their nest in a tree.”  
“I am not a duckling! I am a grown man.” Spat Dean fingers wrapping more tightly around the cold pink plastic coated metal pole that kept him from falling. It was a difficult task with his hands bound by the zip ties.   
“Your ego might better survive a cliff but your body will thank you for starting with a playground.”   
“I’m going to do some interviews for the hunt while you find a way down from your perch. We’ll meet at the cabin later,” smirked Bobby. With a tip of his baseball cap Bobby turned back toward the trail to the visitor center. The campground was mostly deserted besides one or two park rangers that didn’t dare venture out in the cold of the fall that threatened snow. They had told the two hunters to camp at their own risk just don’t get into any trouble because they weren’t leaving the warmth of the visitor center. That had suited Bobby just fine since it gave Dean the freedom to spread his wings. Dean felt like a giant when he had clambered up to the top of the railing that stop the kids falling off on their way to the slide. White and electric blue flight feathers wedged themselves between the blue plastic slide and the monkey bars to keep Dean from overbalancing and falling on his face on the wood chips below. Dean had to give it to Bobby. As a way of torture, it was well thought out. If Dean fell it would hurt but the wood chips meant to protect children would make Dean hard pressed to break his neck. Dean tried to step backwards on to the little walk way but with his hands tied behind him any motion in that direction would be sure to overbalance him. He could jump for it. It was only ten feet. But every time he bent his knees he found his fingers clutching tighter to the pole at his back. The ground seemed to be getting further away and his stomach felt like he had a hangover. This was ridiculous he had face down werewolves Dean Winchester wasn’t afraid of heights! He wasn’t!.  
“Hey!” A high-pitched squeak started Dean from his perch. There was a moment of terror and frenzy flapping that wound up flipping Dean in a tight somersault instead of keeping him air born before his back greeted the ground with an audible thud.   
Long dark hair curtained his face as a pair of soft brown eyes met his.  
“Do it again,” commanded the young girl.  
“What?! Personal space sweetheart.” Dean sat up and scooted away on his bum. His brain trying to find a reasonable explanation for his wings that would make sense to a five-year-old. His butt and elbow were sore but everything seemed to have survived the fall except his ego and, he grinned, the zip tie. The girl was young no older than seven with an unflattering overlarge t-shirt that proclaimed “that the difference between genius and stupidity is that genius has its limits”. Clearly unfazed by the feathers she pointed one finger at the top of the playground and glared at Dean like he was slow.   
“Do a flip.”   
Dean cautiously lifted his wings shaking the wood chips off. Crossing his arms over his knees. “Didn’t your parents tell you not to talk to strangers’ kid? Especially ones with extra appendages?” The girl shuffled closer in her once white sneakers. Her hand exploded out and latched around Dean wrist. Leaning her whole body back on the balls of her feet she attempted unsuccessful to leveler the larger man up.  
“You’re not a stranger.”  
Dean raised one eyebrow at the girl. “Pretty sure I would remember a princess like you.”  
The girl huffed a sigh eyes doing an impressive roll to the heaven. “You’re not a stranger dummy. You’re an angel. Mommy says angels watch over me” Dean shallowed hard at that shaking his head wanting to tell the girl that he was no angel. “So if you watch over me you can’t be a stranger.” The girl chewed her bottom lip thinking before saying, “You’re like a fluffy babysitter.”   
Dean snorted. “Angels are just as real as unicorn, dragons, and fairy tales. Their just stories kid. I’m just an unlucky guy with wings.” Dean felt bad for ripping the childhood fantasy land out from under the kid but the child would live longer with logic than dreams. He grabbed his leather jacket pulling it on over his wings. Immediately feeling less exposed.  
“Unicorns are real.” Replied the girl eyes narrowed.  
“Have you ever seen one? I’ve seen a lot trust me. There are evils in the shadows. I’ve seen them most people have seen them out of the corner of their eye, in the shadows, under their bed, but those good monsters they don’t exist. If no one has ever seen them how could you think they possibly exist?” Why was he debating a five year old in the woods? This was ridiculous. The thing was he had taken an instant liking to the little punk. Not in a creepy way. It was because she was too innocent to see him as a monster. Any guilt was washed away when the small hand that was not latched around Dean wrist disappeared into the inner pocket of Dean jacket and emerged with a leather folded rectangle that was Dean’s wallet. Dean would normal have deck the thief but he just growled in frustration since he drew the line at women and children and instead tried to snatch the wallet back without touching the girl. The last thing he needed was the girl’s parents walking out to see a strange man with his hands on their child.   
“Give that back,” Dean demanded.   
“Mommy says adults believe in things they can’t see.”  
“Yeah like depression, anxiety and the apple pie life, kid. Yeah there are the cults out there that you can get to believe the earth is flat or that the vaccines cause death but not in fairy tales. No one in their right mind believes in something they can’t see.” The girl seemed to consider this for a moment. Dean glared. What had happened to his life? Why in the world was he sitting in a playground having philosophy debate with a five year old thief?  
“Cults are crazy?” the girl mused.  
“Yes,” Dean sighed. Well, he couldn’t use physical violence to take back his wallet he would have his revenge in a childish manner. He fumbled in his front pocket until he felt the plastic bag and heard the tell-tale crinkle. He pulled out the bag of peanut M&M and popped a few of the brightly colored treats into his mouth not offering any to the girl who tried to reach for the bag. Holding it over her head literally he raised an eyebrow looking pointedly at his stolen property.  
“Is the government crazy?”  
Dean had a sneaking suspicion that he was being led to a point and was painfully reminded of Sam at that age. That kid loved to debate like it was an art form. He took a larger handful munching loudly with his mouth open to show his annoyance before answering.  
“Some are. Some people say the US is crazy and it has its moments but its…” Dean thought for a moment. He had lived his whole life in the US and despite how bad his life had gotten he knew there were people in other countries that had it a lot worse. “Its not perfect but it is home and its certainly not cult crazy.”   
The girl pulled a dollar out of the wallet tossing the rest on the ground as if it was worthless letting Dean hurriedly scoop the discarded wallet off the ground. She spread the dollar flat and pointed at the center handing it to Dean.  
“The government isn’t crazy. It is run by adults. It believes in something they haven’t seen.” Dean frowned puzzled examining the dollar to understand what the girl was talking about by her grin it was clear she thought she had won. It took less then a second until Dean found it. He lowered the bag of M&Ms so the girl could grab an overflowing hand full. Which turned out to be three M&M since that was all that could fit in her small hand.  
“You win kid, you win.”  
Dean smooth over the words on the green paper printed by the government, for the people and by the people. Spelled out in simple block texted was the words: In God we trust.


	28. The Wild

“Clearly you’ve never seen miracle on 34th street.” Dean was quiet for a moment. He hadn’t put much thought into the topic. His life had been a whirled wind but his Mom believed and he realized he did too.  
“Alright you made your point kid let get you to your parents come on.” The girl glanced at her shoes.  
“I’m lost,” she muttered after a moment. Thanks universe. Could my luck get any worse?  
“Come on sweetheart lets go talk to the rangers see if they know where your folks are camping.”  
The universe loved to prove him wrong. The rain hit the pair with a wall of water. Well things couldn’t get much worse. Crack! The world whited out and the ground trembled. Spears sized Splinters exploded outward as the tree detonated from the lighting strike. Dean enveloped the girl with his body protecting her from the shards. His wings strained against the coat they itched from the electricity in the air. He had to get her to safety. Hefting the kid into his arms. He made a mad dash toward the cabin. Mud splattered onto his jean and he was soaked through not even ten feet from the playground. A shadow too large to be a bird blanketed the path moving to fast to be seen. Bobby said there was a hunt. Dean had been preoccupied with not caring what happened to himself that he hadn’t got the details he was regretting that now. Diving into the tree line for cover he continued his break neck pace.   
A shadow circled the fleeing pair outlined by the glow of lighting cracking the dark clouds. Gold wings glided over the canopy in absolute silence but the canopy was thick, the sky was dark, and the prey was fast so eventual the predator was reduced to circulating the area waiting for its prey to break cover.   
Dean fingers felt fat and swollen and were an angry red from the cold. His feet felt like solid ice cubes. His cloths felt stiff from being soaked then frozen. The shadow had disappeared an hour ago and it was a struggle to lift his feet.   
“Five minute break,” suggested Dean sinking to his knee on the frozen dead leaves that littered the forest floor and gently placing the girl down she felt like ice in his grip. Much too cold to be healthy.   
“Simple hunt my…” he glanced at the girl before discontinuing his tirade at Bobby. With some difficulty with the inflexibility of his cold muscles he shrugged out his jacket and wrap the child in it. She wasn’t shivering which wasn’t a great sign. Fighting the urge to pull the feathers to the small of his back to warm them he signed and extended them around himself and the girl at the center like a small tent. The ran traced cold trails down his feathers making him shiver but they seemed to be fairly water proof since the girl remained dry inside the protective circle. Dean knew he was in trouble. He was lost in the woods with a minor, and a monster and judging by the way his thoughts and legs wouldn’t obey his commands to move; possibly hypothermic. He fished his phone out of his pocket. It took a few tries with his clumsy fingers but finally he managed to select Bobby’s number .  
“SOS Bobby, Got lost in woods to the North something is chasing us.”  
“Hang in there. I co- beeep” The phone small screen went black as the battery gave out.  
“S^&%!” cursed Dean. He pulled the girl closer trying to bring her body temperature up. He had to keep her awake if she drifted off now there was no telling if she would wake up. He was right. There was no such thing as a good supernatural creature. He had just been trying to help and he had only brought harm to the girl.  
“Angel, don’t sleeping.”   
Dean blinked the world had turned white. Oh those were his wings. Something cold poked him in the cheek hard. Not painful just hard. The girl glared. Opps he had to stay awake. He was the one who was suppose to keep the kid from drifting away not the other way around. He shifted with a groan his arms felt like logs.  
“Not an Angel” That was the end of the conversation for a while.  
“Sing,” Dean jerked awake the second time at the command.  
“heck no. What do you think I am? A Disney princess?” The girl looked at him like in fact; yes she though he was a Disney princess. Signing deeply Dean grumbled to himself. The lengths he goes to please children are ridiculous. The only saving grace was that Sam wasn’t here to see the how far he had fallen. He actually enjoyed singing but had purposely gaged Sam with the most off-key singing whenever his brother had been listening. Dean thought for a moment before singing in surprisingly on key tone.

“Oh, the summertime is comin'  
And the trees are sweetly bloomin'  
And the wild mountain thyme  
Grows around the purple heather  
Will you go? Lassie, will you go?  
And we'll all go together…”

The girl smiled up at him entranced by his voice. Dean trailed off and was violently poked again.   
“Angels have wings and can sing,”  
“Children are stubborn and manipulative.” Dean shot back with no real venom.  
The cold spread like ink through water as the night wore on. At one point it hurt but muscles became lifeless dead weights. Dean just prayed that if frost bite had to clam his arms that at least the girl would be spared.   
He woke some time later and it was much darker. This time his wings were dragging on the ground and something was being dragged from his arms.   
The next time he woke it was much warmer. Dean stretched his toes and wings into the covers in appreciation of the warmth of the bed. Snuggling into the depths of the covers he yawned like a large cat.  
“I can’t leave you alone for five minutes!”  
Dean jack knifed in bed. Hedgehog haired, eyes wide he took in the cabin and Bobby with one wild disorientated glance. The cabin was not much to see. Two single beds with sleeping bags and a single pillow each. The only other thing in the cabin their duffels and stash of dry food.   
“Leave you alone for five minutes you get hypothermia and lost in the woods,” Bobby snaps exasperated.  
“Nice simple salt and burn, a little vacation in the woods and somehow you manage to nearly get your ass frozen off.”  
“How is she?” Dean asks afraid for the answer. He doesn’t see the girl in the other twin bed. She not in the one room cabin. His heart is hammering in his chest. Had Bobby had her taken to her parents? The hospital? Buried behind the cabin? Had he got her killed?   
“Who?” Bobby ask concerned etched in to the lines of his face.  
“The kid. She saved my life. Kept waking me up. She was with me in the woods.”  
“Son, you were alone when I found you.” The warmth was sucked out of the room.  
“What.”   
Sudden comprehension dawned on Bobby face. “You were incredibly cold son way too cold for September. Was she cold to the touch?”  
“It’s fall, it was raining of course she was cold.” denied Dean but he had a sinking felting in his gut that he knew were this conversation was heading.  
“Was she about sevenish with long black hair?” asked Bobby. Dean nodded relief flooding him. Bobby had seen the kid. Maybe she had just run off. Maybe the universe would give him a break.  
“Dean, hikers had been reporting siting of a child in the woods. They were following her to help and they would get lost. Ten years ago according to the rangers a family a mother, father and girl were lost in the woods. The mother body was found with stab wounds the father was convicted but the kid was never found. She was assumed dead. Dean, I came here on a salt and burn and I think you found the ghost.”  
No, no, no. Dean blinked rapidly wings turning angry eddies. Glancing up at Bobby anger causing a blue power to swirl in the emerald depths.  
“She wasn’t luring me to my death.”  
“She a lost soul. A ghost. Are you saying you found Casper the friendly ghost?   
“She kept me from drifting off. She saved me.” That’s when Dean understood. He looked down at his lap wings stilling. The ghost, the girl had finally made her point.

Author's Note:  
For those of you who don't know Jensen Akles can sing. Like I needed another reason to fall in love with him. There is a video of him singing the song in this chapter if you youtube it. If you already knew this sorry for wasting your time if not you're welcome.


	29. Ash

All it had taken was the nap and any traces of frost bite had been erased by whatever supernatural healing ability Dean possessed. Basking in the late afternoon sun wings soaking up the rays Dean felt like a lion sunning as he yawned lazily. Dean was hoping Bobby hadn’t found anything in the old drainage ditch. He should have known better than to hope. The rough wood handle of a shovel was forced into his palm.   
“Time to get to work,” grunted Bobby.  
The drainage ditch was dry nothing more than a dirt trench which was easy turned up. Four hours of digging before Bobby shovel clutched through a hard object. The long beached white object was a small thigh bone. There was no coffin of course this was a murder not a burial. Dump in a ditch literally. Dean felt queasy. The salt felt like a led weigh in his palm. His own body trembled in a sudden sliver the cold reaching bones. It was only when a small puff of air was visible as Bobby breathed out did Dean realize the cold was external. Gentle fingers lanced through his left hand by his side. They felt like icicles against his skin.  
“Angel?” the girl looks up at Dean a worried expression drawing her brows together. She was smaller than Dean remembered. She wore the same clothes as at the playground. The crack of the shot gun discharging was deafening. Rock salt shredded the ghost into whips of colored smoke.   
“Light her up,” snapped Bobby, lowering the shot gun. Gritting his teeth and reminding himself that this was his job Dean flicked the lighter. The tiny fame danced happily in his hand as he hesitated a moment too long.   
“I don’t want to die!” the cry was high-pitched and frantic. An accompanying blast of compressed air radiated out from the ghost slamming into Dean tossing him to the ground in a flurry of feathers.   
Bang. The second shot of rock salt caused the shock wave to stop. Dean snatched the lighter from where it had fallen. Bobby offering a hand to pull him to his feet which Dean brushed off.  
A small figured blurred into view between Dean and the grave. Bobby snapped the reloaded shot gun shut bring it to bare.  
Dean reached out for the barrel shoving it down toward the dirt.  
“Don’t Bobby, she just scared.” Bobby looked at Dean like he had suggested that he should go out for a manicure. It was one thing for Dean to grow wings it was another for the great hunting Dean Winchester to not want to hunt a ghost.  
“She a ghost Dean she doesn’t belong here.”   
The girl stood head hung low shoulder hunched dark hair framing her round face.  
“I don’t want to go. I don’t want to be alone. I just want my mommy.” The girl voice sounded younger than ever before her eyes bright with tears. Dean took a step towards the ghost. Placing himself between Bobby and the lost child. He knelt in front of the girl so he was eye to eye with the girl he stuck his hand in to his pocket pulling out a rumbled green bill and handed the dollar to the girl.  
“You will never be truly be alone. I promise.” The words in his head had just been meaningless comfort. Before he had met the child, he would have scoffed at the chick flick moment but as he spoke them he came to the realization that he believed them. With that he wrapped his arms around the ghost girl who was nearly shallowed by the much larger mans arms.   
“I’m going to find a way to get you home.” Dean promised giving little thought to the how of the promise concentrating on the why. The white wings pumped downward in one violent motion. A gust of wind that had been caught by the down draft blasted Bobby causing him to shut his eyes against the sting and knocking his baseball cap from his head. It was only a moment but when he opened his eyes again the girl was gone. And so was Dean.   
“Dean,” called Bobby heart pounding with worry but he wasn’t surprised when the only answer was the chirp of a robin. Bobby rushed to the grave his own lighter in hand. If that girl had done something to Dean she wouldn’t continue to be a ghost to enjoy it. The bones never got a chance to burn. Crumbling to ash, the dust was free to dance in the wind with only the old hunter as a witness.


	30. Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: One again thanks for the kind comments. Your support is what gives me the encouragement to keep writing and reassures me that I am not a completely awful writer.

“What the hell?” growled Dean although unless hell had frozen over this wasn’t it. If it had frozen it would honestly make a lot of sense in explaining the weird experiences in his life. Dean shivered his leather jacket enough protection against the brisk fall breeze but not against the subzero temperature of the winter wonderland he had landed in. Fluffy clumps of snowflakes drifted lazily down to land in his hair and camouflage in an icy coating on his plumage. A warm body at contrast with the surrounds wiggled out of his hug.   
“Thanks Angel,” the girl grin was just as shocking in emotional change as the warmth in her fingers. The girl spun on her heel sprinting up the plowed path towards the row of neat little cape cods outlined in brightly colored lights. Dean had fallen out of reality and into a Christmas card.  
“Kid wait,” ordered Dean trotting in pursuit. The snow crunched under his boots. The girl didn’t turn but dashed up the front steps of the nearest house. The door knob turned easily under the girl palm. It hadn’t been locked, so either something wasn’t right here or it was a town of hippies which really was redundant. Dean slowed as he approached the porch cautious but curious. Plus he couldn’t let a child come to harm. The house opened up into a well loved if not neat kitchen. Dishes piled high in the sink. Tinsel hung with holiday joy if lacking a sense of any type of style. The scent of baking cookies hung heavy in the air and despite himself Dean felt his body relax. A woman in her prime turned as the door sprung open carefully dropping the cookies on a cooling rack. As she turned, she aged slightly before their eyes. The flawless beauty of youth developed laugh lines as she aged and somehow it only increased her beauty. She knelt spreading her arms with a smile that lite her face. The girl dashed into the woman’s arms wrapping her arms around her neck.  
“Merry Christmas Mommy,”  
“I love you sweetie.” She lifted her face to Dean “Thank you for bringing her home.”  
Nope. This wasn’t happening.  
A sneaking suspicion of his current location was gnawing on his brain. The clues were everywhere. The girl was a ghost. A lost soul trapped because of the horror of her death. Her mother had been murdered but her soul had not haunted the woods she must have passed on. The girl’s fingers had been warm against his. But really whose heaven was in the minus thirties? Was he dead too? He didn’t remember dying? Had the ghost accidentally ganked him on her way up?   
Dean stood there awkwardly at the admittedly sappy chick flick moment as the mother kissed her child forehead then handed her a melty cookie. She then stepped up to Dean and drew him into an even more awkward hug, which he stood like a stature in. Standing on tip toe her check brushing his she whispered into his ear.  
“I owe you everything but you have to leave now. They sensed you the moment you landed. They are coming for you.” Dean jerked away.  
“Who?” he demanded.  
The mother didn’t answer but latched onto his sleeve dragging him to the front door and shoving him out. Dean was too confused to fight and didn’t want the hurt the woman anyway.  
“Don’t stop moving and don’t go home.” Then the door slammed in his face.   
If she had known him better she would have known he would do exactly what told not to. Home. Dean had been four last time he had a home. That dream had died with his own mother. Maybe the girl wasn’t the only one who could go home. Who cares about the warnings? It would be total be worth anything to see his mother again.  
He was no longer in the winter wonderland. The front door that had been slammed in front of him read. Laura Ziller 1950-1980 Beloved daughter and mother. Sally Ziller 1974-1980 Beloved daughter. A quick glanced around revealed an endless white hall with evenly spaced doors each with at least one name engraved. It took 30 seconds to realized that they were organized alphabetically by last name and then he was sprinting down the hall towards W.   
He had just made it to Y when the flutter of wings made him dive for cover into one of the attached doors. The warning ringing in his head. They were coming for him.  
Panting he pressed himself up against the door listening to the sound of flapping to pass.   
“Hey dude, are you here about the noisy ice machine?” Dean’s head whipped around to take in an extremely overweight early thirties man which was starting to resemble the bean bag he sprawled in. Long locks of wavy dark hair were pressed to the sides of his head by an impressive headset a x-box remote was waved around in one hand as he spoke. An endless supply of snacks including chips, candy, ice cream, cake, candy, basically all the essentials encircled, the ‘dude’. Dean grinned at least this place took into account individualism.   
“I know it was a toss up about here or the other place on my application but giving me the room with the noise ice machine for all eternity because you didn’t think my t-shirt was appropriate seems a little petty.”  
“I don’t work here dude,” said Dean with a chuckle. He had gone passed freak out and into hyperhilarity at the situation.  
“Could have fooled me with those feathers,” shrugged the guy apparently losing interest in Dean and turning back to his game which in Dean opinion should come with a warning; ‘may cause motion sickness’. Dean self-consciously shuffled the feathers behind his back as much as possible.  
“One too many bacon cheese burgers?” Dean asked. Sadly, thinking he might have to start cutting out some of the nitrates. But in all honesty if high cholesterol killed him he would have passed his own predicted life span of making it to twenty.  
“Infected paper cut,” signed the gamer turning slightly red.

He slipped out of the room moments later thinking nothing could surprise him anymore; not knowing how wrong he would be. The rest of the way to his goal was empty which only increased the feeling he was walking into a trap. Heart in his throat he turned the knob for the door that read Mary Winchester beloved daughter, wife and mother below her name was Dean’s with his birth-date and no end date. Sam and John were glaring absent from the door. Dean wasn’t going to think to hard with what that could mean.  
He entered into the dining room in their home in Kansas and had the sudden sense of falling and an old emotion that had died igniting again. Hope.   
Then he saw her.  
In the kitchen, long blonde hair, and the same sparking green blue eyes as his. Sam may have gotten his dark looks and temperament from their father as much as he saw Dean as the mini John Winchester. Dean had always been more like his mother. The peace marker, family centered even had gotten her green eyes and lighter hair.  
“Mom,”  
“Dean,”  
For the second time that day Dean was enveloped by a motherly hug but this time it was Dean who was affectionate and Mary who stood like and awkward statue.   
“Mom?” asked Dean drawing back slightly to look down on the shorter woman. It was a weird perspective. Since the last time Dean had seen his mother, he had to crane his neck to look up at her.   
“Would you like to stay with me forever?” she asked. Dean nodded into her blond hair eyes closed.  
“Son, say yes. All you have to do is say yes.” Dean pulled further away slightly weirded out but this was everything he ever wanted. To have a family who loved him again. Well most everything.  
“What about Sam?”   
“Your brother made his choose. He left you. Left his family. He happy were he is. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be happy together forever. Just say yes” Mary took a step forward as Dean retreated another step back. His heart felt like it had been cleaved in two.  
But this was his mom. She knew what was best for her children. Sam was better off without Dean in his life anyway.  
“Ye-”   
The house exploded in a blinding flash of golden light and Dean was ripped from Mary’s arms.


	31. The Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hope you enjoy!

The music was one the wrong side of unbearable and could be felt pounding through the floor in the frat house.  
“Come on it would be fun. You said. Come on everyone is going. Our friends will be there. There will be free beer. It the party of the year,” mocked Sam to Randy his roommate. Randy shrugged squished up next to Sam on the couch which was really too small for the two large men to sit comfortably but it had been the only clean space to sit. A bunch of sorority chicks danced to the music either with the confidence that comes from dance lessons or the confidence that comes from ethanol.  
Boys crowded around the x-box and the beer cooler. It was the kind of scene that Dean would have loved and that Sam felt guilty for enjoying without his sibling.   
A dark robed figure was standing in the shadowy hall just three feet from the back of the couch. A silver blade rotated slowly in the figures grip pointed at the floor. The sea blue gaze burned in to Sam’s scull. Party goers passed by completely unaware like field mice being watched by a hawk. Their glaze going right through the figure. It was the perks of being invisible. Maybe it was the invisibility that caused the young hunter to be unaware of the danger to his life. Maybe it was being out of the job for so long or the chaotic atmosphere of the party but Sam was completely unaware that an avenging angel had come for him.   
The immense disappointment Castiel had felt when he realized that the demon had predictably lied about this Winchester being his long-lost charge sat in his stomach like a dead weight. The demon had given him the location of the abomination.  
It was his duty to rid the earth of the demon blood and the tainted child. The problem was that Sam Winchester was just that: a child, at least to Castiel who had lived thousands of years. An innocent who had been tainted by evil against his will. He had not been given the freedom to chose his fate. The freedom to choose was supposed to be His Father’s greatest gift to man. It had been snatched away from Sam. So Castiel stood their head tilted thinking and watching. He watched as a blond woman bent down to peck a kiss on Sam’s cheek managing to elbow Randy on the way down before heading passed the invisible angel. He watched the boy break into the biggest smile the Angel had ever seen. Randy pated Sam on the back with a low whistle.   
“Total missed my chance with that one,” laminated Randy to Sam. Sam blushed and shoved Randy into the opposite arm rest away from him. Randy grinned.   
The smell of sulfur wafted off the boy causing the angel to grimace. Castiel signed. He may not like what needed to be done but he was an angel he wasn’t suppose have the emotions to have likes and dislikes. Not for the first time he wondered if he was somehow defective. It would make sense on why he had failed his purpose in life. Castiel took a step towards the defenseless Winchester.  
Something cool brushed his Adam’s apple halting his advance. On instinct his hand rose to brush the thing away.  
“I wouldn’t move. This is a demon killing knife works pretty well on angels too.” The voice came from over Castiel right shoulder it was high and feminine.   
“I am here for the abomination. I don’t want to cause harm to innocents. Leave and I will not be forced to destroy you.”  
“I appreciate the assumption but I am far from innocent.” The smell of sulfur intensified meaning that Sam Winchester had released digestive gas or the being holding the knife was a demon. “I will take offense to you trying to murder by prince.”  
“You are no match for me filth.” stated Castiel voice low and steady. Pupils glowing with an inner power enough to smite the demon from the face of the planet if he choose.   
“Head to head maybe I am a little lacking in the power department, granted but you said it yourself, I am going to win, because if Sam Winchester dies I flip the switch on the numerous explosives all over campus which will kill hundreds of innocent students. Sooooo I win.”  
The fire died from the angel’s eyes. The demon was right he would not risk the lives of so many. The demon may have the upper hand in this battle but this was a war.  
“I will find the explosives and return. You may have saved Sam Winchester for now but you can’t hope to stay with him at all times. You will have to leave him before he grows suspicious. When that happens, I will be waiting.”  
“Oh, wrong again. He wants me with him at all times. It is the perks of being his girl friend.”  
With a flap of impossible dark wings, the angel was gone. Slipping the knife up her sleeve and out of sight of the party goers she barely noticed the vessels pain as the blade nicked the soft skin. The demon’s smile was real as she bounced back over to Sam and planted a second even bigger kiss on his lips. Her prince was safe.


	32. Good Omens

“MOM!”  
Dean struggled yelling for her as she cried out in fury at the separation.  
Dean landed on the titled floor with all the grace of an owl hitting a window. His home had disappeared along with his mother and had been replaced with what looked like Willy Wonka candy factory including a cholate fountain and a Willy Wonka want to be.  
A short ‘man’ with long golden wings (not golden eagle- brownish gold, no these wings were like the metal) was perched on the counter sucking on a green apple lolly pop, watching Dean with a smug grin. He had long light brown hair and eyes that glinted with trouble.   
“Bring her back,” growled Dean getting to his feet eyes flaring blue. His own wings expanded behind him demonstrating the fact that they were a good foot or two longer than the gold ones.  
“No.”   
Dean took a menacing step forward fist clutched. The man flicked two fingers and ropes of ridiculously strong licorice materialized out of thin air and restrained him from his advance. “That Deano was not your Mommy. That was my brother possessing your mother.”  
“Then I am going to gank you and then exorcism the fugly.” Spat Dean twisting viscously.  
“Oh don’t worry she safe. Mikey wouldn’t want to harm her. He just wants to use her to buy a stronger outfit. You. So you should be really thanking me.”   
“I could have taken him. I could take both of you. Let me go and I’ll prove it.” He snarled baring his teeth.  
“Miky is an archangel…” The man eyed Dean critically taking in the impressive wing span and the swirls of blue that turned in the green of his iris. “supposedly the strongest of us if he had his true vessel. But no one has tested a nephilim against an archangel before though. Plus he is possessing a regular soul which even the playing field a bit. So I was able to misdirect him and get you out of there. Thwarting his plan to possess you and rule the earth. You’re welcome.” The man gave a little bow his wings participating in the action.  
An archangel wanted to use him as a meat suit? That wasn’t on Dean’s bucket list and he had eating an entire jar of fluff on it. He forced himself to relaxed marginally knowing his mother wasn’t in immediate danger and even if she was, there wasn’t much he could do in his current predicament.   
“Who are you?” snared Dean stopping his struggles to glare up at the smaller man.  
“I am the mighty archangel Gabriel. One of the big three archangels and at the moment the only one with my true vessel. I mean Lucy and Mikey honestly need to get out more they would be less grouchy. I mean why destroy earth? Literally humans know how to have fun. I mean have you tried Nutella?” Dean pursed his lips giving an apperceptive nod. He had to agree with the feather douche on that one. Credit were credit was due and all.  
“But my brothers are really so picky about their outfits. I mean I get it I really do. It’s hard to find the perfect vessel when you are as powerful as an archangel if it is not the perfect match the vessel will literally explode in a week. We can’t just have human. Humans would just burst at the seams. I had to go for Norse trickster myself. Loki, well, wasn’t clear on who would be possessing who when he said yes. So the jokes on him. You can address me Your Highness or the exulted one.” Gabriel eyes’ glowed gold and the Willy Wonka impression was replaced with an older and much more dangerous one. “I’m not interested in letting my brothers burn the earth because they think it is fated to be so. And so chickadee your in luck. Your first flight isn’t going to end with you possessed but with me sending you back to ground level.”  
“So if you’re some kind of ‘team free will’ why don’t you take a stand against your siblings? You said yourself you’re the only one with a vessel at the moment,” suggested Dean. Did he just call me a freaking chickadee? I am not a chickadee. That is so girly. I need to vomit.  
Gabriel looked away as if into a camera. “At the moment I’m more ‘team good omens’ than ‘team free will’. All I need is a demon called Crowley.” Gabriel signed as his reference was lost on the young nephilim. “I’m the trickster; not the soldier. Don’t worry I’ll cause chaos until ‘team free will’ get their act together and hopefully not die trying.” Dean opened his month to ask what the heck Gabriel was talking about when the snapping of Gabriel fingers caused the candy factory to dissolve replaced with the feeling of free falling.


	33. Unleashed

He landed in Bobby’s living room or what was left of it. The smell of soot greeted his nose and blackened his wings. It swirled in little eddies in the breeze that ran through the room from the lack of walls like swarms of tiny flies. The side wall resembled a meteor strike. Irreplaceable tomes and artifacts lay scattered half chard. Where was Bobby? Please let him be ok. Please let him be out on a job. He should have never tried to help Dean. Dean was like a disease that killed anyone who tried to help him. Please let Bobby be alive if he is I’ll stay always from him he bargain with whoever was listening. For one heart stopping second Dean thought it had been him returning to earth. Had he done this? Then he realized he wasn’t alone.  
“Well, you’re obviously not Demon Dean but I’ll say it again you can’t have a one sided boss fight. Sic him girls”  
The pair of hell hounds lunged away from their master and toward Dean, multiple heads flinging drool from their nashing jaws. Each dog had three heads but the bigger of the two resembled a German Sheppard with a pointed nose while the slightly smaller had the stouter build of a Pitbull. Both were jet-black with each sporting six neon red eyes.   
Dean had had enough of being the victim.  
“Where is Bobby?” he growled voice deep eyes swirling with electric blue. Wing spread and raised all twelve feet from wing tip to wing tip.   
Crowley glanced around at the rumble as if searching for a lost pen. Then he shrugged and said,  
“Don’t know don’t care, but judging by the mess my hounds left probably dead.” That statement was a mistake on Crowley part.  
The smaller hound launched himself at Dean’s jugular but Dean boot snapped out kicking the dog into the far wall as if it weight nothing more than a soccer ball and wasn’t a seventy pound block of muscle. The dog did not rise from where it had landed at the base of the wall.  
The second dog hadn’t learned form the first dog mistake. It managed to clamp its jaws around the nephilim’s forearm and draw blood. Dean merely grabbed the back of the dog’s neck with his free hand and snapped it.   
It wasn’t even at this point that Crowley realized his mistake. No, the moment he realized that the best offense was retreat was when the green in Dean’s eyes had been replaced entirely by blinding blue lighting.   
The house’s light bulbs that had been disconnected in the attack suddenly sprung to life from the electricity in the air before bursting in a shower of sparks and glass. Arcs of electricity sparked between feathers and finger tips. Dean had lost everything. He lost his mother, father and brother. Now he had lost Bobby. The one person in his life besides his mother who had ever taken care of him and not the other way around. Crowley had pushed Dean to lose one more thing. He had lost control.   
Crowley had done the math but had miscalculated-badly. He did have the sense to teleport away a second before the lightning strike leveled what was left of Bobby’s house, Singer savage yard and a good chuck of the nearby forest. The world went white and the ground quaked. 

The End   
(Of Part 1 - Preseries)

Up next: Part 2 Season 1


	34. Stanford

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: This was actually the first chapter that I wrote. This was suppose to be the first chapter opps, then the other 106 pages were written that happened before this one.

The fire blossoms like a flower across his bedroom ceiling. Jess’s lifeless eyes stare unblinkingly into Sam’s as she’s consumed. Sam was frozen to the bed in horror. He knows it’s a dream. He knows he’s sleeping. He’s seen it before. How mess up must he be to dream of his girlfriend dying an agonizing death every day for a week? He blames his mental state on his equal messed up childhood. He’s going to need to start going to a therapist if this keeps up. Dreaming of your girlfriend dying repeatedly – not sane. His heart feels like it’s about to burst against his ribs as he wills himself to wake up. Jackknifing in bed. He falls clumsy out of the bed. Sheets tangling around his long legs but Jess and the fire have disappeared. His hands scrape against dirt and small clumps of grass. Confused Sam sits back on his hunches and comes face to face with Dean who is on his knees in front of him. Dean’s eyes glisten with unshed tears as he stares at Sam. The logical part of Sam’s brain the part that is recommending the therapist recognizes that this must also be a dream because he hasn’t seen his brother in over four years. It the guilt he thinks. The guilt of abandoning Dean to leave the less than safe life of a hunter so that he could be normal and go to college. He needs to let the guilt go. It not doing anyone any good not Dean and defiantly not himself. Maybe he should become a therapist but the money is in Law. Besides the Dean in front of him wasn’t a brother he had ever seen. He was older, more filled out for his height, with a trace of a five o’clock shadow. This fake Dean was clutching one arm to his chest and a gash dripped blood across his eyebrow and down one cheek. Plus the real Dean didn’t cry but that was exactly what this dream Dean was doing as he gazed into Sam eyes. Correction as he stares at someone behind Sam. But when his brother spoke there was no trace of fear as his deep voice challenged whoever was shadowing Sam.   
“Don’t do this. You are going to destroy our family if you kill me,” growled Dean. Sam flinched as the muzzle of a handgun suddenly appears at the side of his head. It points directly at Dean’s heart.   
Bang. Bang. Bang. Sam woke with a lurch breathing hard. It took him a moment to realize it wasn’t gun shots from his dream but someone pounding on his apartment door. He glanced at the glowing digital clock that read nearly one in the morning. He glanced at Jess who had placed a pillow over her ears. Sighing Sam climbed out of bed placing his feet on the cold floor.  
Common universe, he has the LSAT tomorrow. Was getting a good night sleep too much to ask for a Winchester? Flipping on the hallway light he reached for the door knob.  
Someone better be dying thought Sam before yanking the door open. A pair of familiar green eyes met his hazel ones and the pre-law brain shorted out for a few seconds.   
Error: Dean at Stanford doesn’t compute.   
“Hiya Sammy,” his brilliant grin faded a little when Sam didn’t respond. Breaking eye contact he glanced nervously around shifting his weight. Another error message flashed through Sam brain. Dean doesn’t do nervous or awkward and where was Dad? Dean would never leave their father.   
Had they come to drag him back? If so they were in for the fight of their lives.   
“What are you doing here? Where’s Dad?” Sam finally managed still blocking the door. At the mention of their father Dean face had gone pale. Sam frowned really looking at his brother for the first time. He looked smaller than Sam remembered and not just because Sam had grown another 2 inches in the past year Dean had lost weight too and not in a good way. Dean clothes were rumpled and didn’t look like they had been washed in a while. His jeans were old with holes in them and Sam new that wasn’t because that holes were stylish. Dark half circles underlined the green and dark purple painted Dean’s left cheek bone.   
“I’m alone. I just need a place to crash for one night, Sammy. I’ll be gone by morning promise.” There was a split second were Sam hesitated. His thoughts drifting to Jess and the trouble that would follow Dean to her door.  
Does he really hate me that much Dean thought as Sam continued the silence. He clenched his fist tighter in his jacket sleeve trying to prevent the blood running down his arm from dripping on to Sam’s front steps but his fingers were starting to feel a numbing cold that wasn’t from the warm September night. He just needed a few minutes to warm up and possibly a first aid- kit or he didn’t know if he would make it back to the Impala parked down the block. Please Sammy.


	35. Meeting the Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments! They always make my day :)

“Sam, can I just come in for like 5 minutes please.” The expressionless mask broke as Sam quickly moved back motioning Dean inside. Dean nearly collapsed in relief.  
“Dean you are always welcome,” Sam said as he closed the door. Dean looked even worse in the hallway light. Had Dean been in a bar fight? Where was Dad? Had Dean finally had enough? A flicker of excitement burned in Sam at the thought that Dean and Dad might have had a fight. Maybe he could finally convince his older brother to stay with him and have a normal life. A dark liquid stain spread on the back of Dean’s leather jacket. It looked like he had fallen in a muddy puddle. “Are you alright?” Sam asked. He got the answer he was expecting not the answer he believed.  
“I’m fine,” Dean replied quickly “Can I use your restroom?” Sam had just pointed to the direction of the restroom when they were interrupted.  
“Sam, what going on?” Jess stood in the bed room door in her night t-shirt and shorts, blonde hair somehow managing to fall perfectly around her face despite having been sleeping soundly moments before.  
“Jess, this is my brother, Dean. He just needs to stay for a night.” He smiled apologetically at Jess. This was not the introduction to his family he had imaged. Actually, he had never envisioned them meeting. If he was being honest Sam would have thought he had a better odds of introducing Jess to the president than his family. But now that they were in the same room together, he realized he was nearly sick with nerves. He wanted Jess and Dean to like one another badly. He held his breath as Jess gave Dean a once over. Her gaze lingered a little longer than necessary on Dean’s, spiked cropped hair, in Sam’s opinion.  
“I can see the family resemblance: six foot plus, a mountain of plaid, a mess, and drop dead gorgeous you must be a Winchester.”  
Dean gave her a wink. “I like her Sam. You may keep her.”  
She smirked back then added, “Sam, do you think your hair would look like that if we cut it?”  
What had Sam done introducing these two? He was doomed, but he was grinning on the inside. Jess reached out a hand to shake Dean’s. Without thinking Dean returned the gesture then hurry excused himself into the bathroom closing the door. Jess frown down at her hand which felt sticky from its brief contact with Dean’s. Her first reaction was disgust which quickly gave way to horror.  
“Dean’s really a good guy he just takes some getting use to,” Sam defended mistaking the look on Jess face as a reaction to Dean.  
“Sam,” spoke Jess interrupting Sam defense, raising her delicate fingers for him to examine. They were stained with a thick red liquid. “Either your brother murdered someone or he’s severely injured.”  
Sam’s stomach plummeted. Knowing Dean, it was most likely a combination of the two. It was to her credit that Jess was much claimer than Sam. His stomach twisting with a mix of anger fuel by fear he flew to the bathroom door. Wrapping his knuckles on the wood sharply.  
Dean closed the bathroom door behind him hoping he hadn’t got blood on Jess and trying to come with a realizable excuse that made him sound slightly sane if he had. He threw open the cabinet under the sink using his other hand to support him as the bathroom spun with the sudden change in elevation. Crap. He had smeared blood on the white porcelain. He would have to clean it up after he cleaned the wound. Come on, Sam, where is your first aid kit? His fingers felt heavy and clumsy, a bottle of unopened soap and toilet paper rolls fell over as he rummaged. He just needed a few bandages and some sleep he would be fine in the morning. A white box with a red cross on the front caught his attention. Gotcha.  
Knock. Knock. Someone was pounding at the door.  
“Dean.” It was Sam and judging by his voice he had discovered the blood. Dean’s day had just gone from crap to six feet under. How was he going to explain this one? Tell him it was a hunt? “Are you alright?”  
“Fine!” snapped Dean climbing to his feet. However, his body had other ideas. The room choose that moment to invert.  
Dean tried to catch himself taking a step back to regain his balance but his knees buckled and left arm collided with the bathtub with a snap. There was blinding pain then nothing.  
A crash came from the bathroom causing the couple on the other side of the door to spring into action. Sam’s foot connected with the door causing it to implode and Jess dove for the phone on the hook. Dean lay on his side on the tile floor. Eyes closed. The med kit spilled across the floor and a bloody hand print smudged across the sink.  
“Dean, Dean!” called Sam dropping to his knees next to brother, fingers searching for a pulse pressing into vain under his brother chin. There was an agonizing moment of uncertainty before he felt the faint beat. “Dean,” Sam tried again patting Dean’s cheek trying to get a reaction.  
“Sam?” A sliver of glazed green peer up at Sam in confusion. “You came back?” Guilt burned in Sam. No, he hadn’t come back. Dean had left too, but he didn’t think this was the time to press the argument. Dean what did you get yourself into this time? Please don’t die on me.  
“Where does it hurt, Dean?” Sam ask taking stock.  
“No..h…opital,” Dean replied. He couldn’t risk going to the hospital. Not with the questions it might raise. Sam might be able to deal with the insurance fraud and the fake ID. But there were other questions that would be raised such as the nature of the injuries and some other things that would in the best case raise some eyebrows and get him sent to a cage in some government lab or worst case Sammy would find out the truth.  
“Dean,” Sam tried again. No response. The ridiculously long dark lashes remaining stubbornly shut. “Jess help me get his jacket off.” Jess hesitantly put down the phone she was holding in a death grip and together they managed to remove Dean’s jacket without moving the older Winchester too much. The source of the blood became apparent. Dean’s forest green t-shirt was soaked through a dark brown stain across his back. The small part of Sam’s mind that wasn’t freaking out, the part that was a hunter and not a brother wondered why the shirt seemed to be undamaged as if it had been taken off then placed back on over the wounds. “Sorry Dean,” breath Sam as Dean let out a groan as Sam rolled him over, supporting his neck with one hand down his front and back, and with a quick cut with the scissors in the medkit cut the back of the t-shirt open to revel the injuries. The fabric stuck to Dean’s skin with sticky blood. Sam went into robot mode the moment the injuries were bare cleaning them and then wrapping bandages to stop the bleeding. Trying not to think about his brother life dripping away in his bathroom. The brother who had raised him. The brother whose number he had blocked.  
Dean’s back was a mess; covered in blood from several long vertical slashes. Most were incredible painful looking but shallow. There were two deeper gashes directly over Dean’s shoulder blades that Sam could make out of bone. The skin on his left shoulder was blackened and some sort of symbol had been carved into the center of the mark. What in the world had attacked Dean? What had he been hunting? Werewolf? Something with claws? The marks didn’t look like any claw marks Sam had ever seen and he had seen his fair share. If Dean hadn’t been on a hunt… what if…  
“Sam, those marks look like he’s been whipped,” Jess answered in horror. “He looks like a torture victim.”  
Sam was broken out of his thoughts by the sound of sirens and flashing red and blue lights bouncing off the bathroom titles.  
Dean woke on his laying on his stomach and cool air on his bareback. No. No No. Not good. People were yelling and someone was pulling on his arm. He yanked it back. It was his after all. More yelling followed that action. But if Dean knew one thing for certain it was he wasn’t going down without a fight. Where was Sammy? Hadn’t Sammy been there?  
“Male patent mid to late twenties. Multiple lacerations on his back.”  
“Someone hold him still. So I can give him the injection.”  
Somehow the world whizzed past while he lay horizontal which wasn’t helping his confusion. The wheels of the gurney protested harshly as they can to a sudden stop outside the ambulance. 

“Sam!” Jess voice snapped Sam out of his daze. “Your brother needs you to go with him he’s freaking out!”  
“You called 911?” asked Sam already jogging to catch up with the EMTs.  
“Yeah?” Jess confirmed. Frowning as if it was obviously the thing to do when your sibling was bleeding to death in your bathroom.  
Sam got to Dean just in time to grab Dean’s upper cut at the surprise paramedic. It was weak and at an odd angle with no leverage. The lack of lethality just proved how poorly his brother was actually feeling.  
“Dean, calm down they are trying to help you.”  
“Sammy?” asked Dean muscles visibly relaxing at hearing his brother voice. Dean blinked unfocused eye’s in Sam direction. “You ok Sammy?”  
“I’m fine Dean,” signed Sam nodding to the paramedic who caught Dean’s other arm while he was distracted and injected him. The effect was almost immediate. Dean’s eyes drifted closed and his knees gave out collapsing against Sam who caught him.

Sam had missed getting into the back of the ambulance. The moment the paramedics relieved him of his dying brother, that he hadn’t seen in four years he had frozen. Shock had taken its toll. He had just stared as the ambulance as it had started pulling away. His hazel reflecting red and blue alternatively as the ambulance lights alerted the world to their mission to save a life.   
That is when a orange mini-van nearly took out Sam at the knees. It skidded to a halt a foot from Sam.   
“Get in, we have an ambulance to catch.” Ordered Jess leaning across from the driver side to pop open the passenger side door. Sam was in the car before the car had come to a complete stop. Had he mentioned how much he loved Jess? She was the kind of girl that when your half dead brother shows up on your door step, in the middle of the night, she demonstrates her imitation stunt driving skills chasing the ambulance.  
The small caravan whipped crazily through oncoming traffic. The other cars would slow just enough to let the brightly lit ambulance pass but would honk madly at the minivan that tried to follow the ambulance through four lanes of traffic or through red lights.   
“Break!” Warned Sam fingernails digging ditches in the dashboard. Tall frame causing his head to bash into the roof as the car swerved to avoid rear ending the ambulance.  
“!%$#%!&^@^%@$#!$%^” Jess let out a steady stream of curses that Sam wouldn’t have dared speaking in a lady’s presents as she slammed her foot on the break and tried to regain control. The lights on the ambulance had gone out. Sam might have explained away if it had just been the red and blue maybe even the headlights. But the interior lights in the emergency vehicle had gone out as well. It was like an EMP had hit the vehicle.   
Sam all but fell out of the passenger seat onto the asphalt. He was nearly clip by a reckless driver that left him with a honk of its hour. The cold night hair whipped at him stealing his breath as he ran on the dimly lit overpass towards the dead rescue vehicle.  
The first sign of life was the backdoor opening and a figure stumbling out towards him. It was an EMT. His eyes were wide, wild, and he walked aimlessly toward Sam as if he too was in shock.  
“We lost him.” With those three words Sam Winchester was brought to his knees a feat that many horrors of the night had failed to accomplished.


	36. One Last Night

Sam was ready to strangled the poor shaky EMT for his poor choice of words. It turned out that the EMT had meant ‘Lost’ him in the sense that Dean Winchester had somehow managed to disappear out of the back of an ambulance moving at 70 miles an hour while heavily drugged and severely injured without anyone seeing him.   
Sam emotions were resembling his vegetable protein shakes at the moment. Relief that there was still a chance that his brother was alive, anger at Dean bringing some sort of monster case to his normal life- endangering Jess, and worry for his brother in the clutches of whatever had snatched him. The police had given him a blanket, ask him some questions while Jess filled out the paperwork that Sam didn’t have the patience for at the moment.   
The police were out there looking for his brother instead of Sam. The pre-law part of Sam’s brain, the part that wanted normal recognized this was their job and he was a civilian. The hunter part of his brain the part that had hero worshipped Dean recognized that Dean had vanished into thin air and this wasn’t something the police were prepared to handled.  
So after the police had told them to go home and that they would call as soon as they found anything. After Jess had hugged him for a good 20 minutes straight. Sam had finally told her he needed his space for a bit and she had smile sadly and gone to bed. It was so surreal to be back in the same apartment where he had studied for the LSAT not twenty-four hours ago not having seen his brother in four years and not have expecting to see him again only to have him nearly bleed out in his bathroom and disappear from Sam’s life just as fast. Sam flicked off the lights he didn’t want to see the smear of red on the carpet or the toppled stack of books that had been knocked over in the events of the night.   
He sank on to the couch staring at the red letters of the clock nearly 4 am in the morning. Should he get some sleep or go out looking for his brother? If he went looking were would he start? Dean could literally be anywhere from China to Kansas if he had been taken by something supernatural and Sam had no leads. Assuming best case scenario: if Dean had somehow managed to escape his kidnapper, where would he go?   
A hand clapped over Sam’s month preventing him from screaming. Sam acted out of years of military combat training. Tucking his head, hands wrapping over the top of the forearm of his attacker he flipped the figure over his head and on to the floor in front of the coach with a thud.  
He dropped on the figure to press his own forearm into the intruder’s throat. But legs wrapped around Sam’s neck flipping the pair over. %$#! It was clear his attacker was no broke college student but someone with both martial arts training and the muscle strength to enforce it.   
“Out of practice, Sammy?”  
“Dean!?”  
This brother beamed down at him like he hadn’t just passed out in Sam arms hours before. In fact, while still wearing the same blood stain clothing his brother eyes were clear and bright and his skin had gone form ghostly to advertisement for tanning. Sam had, had enough. He swung for Dean face forcing his brother to back off him or get hit. Dean hopped backwards as if expecting the hit but grinning like rough housing with Sam had been the time of his life.  
“WHAT THE HECK!?” hissed Sam voice only lowered for Jess’s benefit. Hands went to cover his tired eyes. Harsh breaths, in through his nose hold for a second and release repeat. Calm. He didn’t want to strangle Dean not really. He was a full-grown man he could control his temper. Ice. Water. Cold. No don’t think of hot anger. No thoughts of flames or fires or… “You better freaken have a good explanation now.” Sam wasn’t sure what he wanted Dean to explain first. Why he had shown up covered in blood on his door step after four years? How he had pulled a Houdini act out of a moving vehicle or how he appeared to have made a full recovery in two-hour flat? His head hurt. Of course, he should have known better than to hope for a clear explanation from his close lipped brother.  
“Dad’s been on a demon hunt and hasn’t been home in a few days.”  
If possible, the tension in the room went up two more notches. The brothers squared off. Sam stepping into Dean’s personal space taking full advances of his height forcing Dean to look up. Dean lifted his chin jaw clutched with a thin easy smile.  
“So,” growled Sam. Dean flinched at the single word “I left that life and now you bring it to my door step.”  
“I thought you might want to help protect what was left of the family. My mistake. I’ll leave. Let you play teacher’s pet and house with your girlfriend.” Dean had the door open before Sam panic registrared. He might have mixed feelings about Dad at the hands of a demon but this wasn’t just about Dad. His dream and his brother blood still under his finger nails made him callout. He wasn’t going to get himself involved in whatever insane mission Dean had saddled himself with but Dean had come looking for a place to rest.  
“Please stay the night. Get some rest. It looks like you need it.” Dean was outlined by the streetlight in the doorway just a shadow of the brother he had once knew now all but a stranger.   
Dean nodded and returned to the coach. There was an awkward goodnight before Sam went to bed completely exhausted; emotionally and physically.   
Dean hadn’t wanted to get Sam involved. Actually, it had been high on his list of things to avoid, next to angels, demons, and airplanes. But the crop circle, freak storms, and cattle mutilations, basically all the classic demon signs had popped up around Stanford. Dean fingered the ransom note in his pocket. With a price that was impossibly high. He had been attacked during the investigation and he hadn’t had anywhere else to go. He hopped that he hadn’t dragged any trouble to Sammy door if he had he would never forgive himself. He would be gone in a few hours long before Sam got up and Sam would expect nothing else. However, if nothing else bad happened because of today and despite nearly dying it truly had been the best day in years. He had gotten to see Sam and his brother had opened his door to him.

Sam sat on the edge of his bed exhausted thinking of his brother hunting alone without any back up. Most hunters didn’t live long enough to retire and most had partners. Was he condemning his brother to an early grave? His gaze fell on Jess. There were other facts to consider. He pulled open his bedside drawer trying to make as little noise as possible. Pushing back the socks he slid back the false wood bottom to reveal two objects. The bigger of the two was a hunting knife, a gift from Dean, on his seventh birthday one of the only things that he had brought with him from his old life.   
The other was a small felt box. It was this second smaller object that he lifted from the draw quickly glancing at Jess to make sure she was still fast asleep. He snapped open the lid of the small jewelry box to revel the ring that was nested snugly in the soft white velvet. Sam had planned to take Jess to dinner after the exam tomorrow and well get down on one knee and beg for her hand. She was the best thing to happen to him at Stanford and he wanted to let her know it. He had debated on whether to go with the more traditional diamond but nothing in their relationship had been traditional so he had had picked out a 24karat gold ring that was etched with little flames that held in place the multifaceted ruby.


	37. I drive all night just to get back home

The ring was carefully put away with all thoughts of his future and moments later he was a sleep.   
The fire blossomed across the ceiling like a rose, flames like petals with Jess at its center. It was quite beautiful if you ignored the fact that a human body chard at 1000℃. It was this thought that would haunt him. He knew it was dangerous to dream of fire burning his girlfriend night after night when he could ingite flames with a mere thought. It was a constant fear. The problem was how to stop a dream from happening? He had tried everything eating and not eating before going to bed. Staying up so late that he was exhausted. Thinking of his favorite textbooks before going to bed in hopes he would come up with an answer to his homework assignment in his sleep. Now, that would be a much better power than being able to spontaneously ignite objects.   
It wasn’t until he felt the cool drops of liquid on his face that he realized he was awake.  
No.  
He had to be a sleep.   
He blinked furiously but when he opened his eyes Jess was still silently screaming in annoying on the ceiling. The smoke hung like a heavy blanket in the air filling Sam’s lungs as if he was breathing acid.  
Had he done this?  
How could he have done this?  
He physically couldn’t accept the reality. It had to be a dream.  
It.  
Must.  
Be.  
But he knew it wasn’t.  
Black smoke billowed around Jess nearly obscuring her face. Flames licked heavily at the covers wanting to claim Sam but still Sam didn’t move. His world was turning to ash.   
“Sam!”  
Sam didn’t respond even when strong arms rapped around him tugging him off the bed towards the door and safety away from Jess. Sam began to struggle then.  
“Noooo! Jesss!” he bellowed wrestling with his rescuer but Dean’s grip could have been steel bands for all they gave as he forced his younger brother out of the fire.   
The logical part of Sam’s brain the part recognized the fact that Jess couldn’t still be alive and that Dean was only trying to protect his brother but that wasn’t the part that was in control when Sam broke Dean’s nose with a right hook the minute his brother had finally got them to safety and let go. Dean just stood there blood dripping down his face from his broken nose as if it was normal than he once again wrapped his arms around his brother but this time in a rare Dean initiated hug. Sam’s knees collapsed beneath him as he bawled into Dean’s shoulder. Dean controlled their collapse to the asphalt as the firefighters doused the apartment around them.   
“Sammy, I’ll hunt that yellow-eyed demon.” Sam lifted his watery eyes to his brother.  
“He has to be destroyed for Mom. He needs to be ripped to pieces for Jess,” hissed Sam using the only form of comfort, in the face of loss, taught to him by his father: revenge.  
“He won’t live to harm anyone ever again,” promised Dean.   
The rest of the weekend was passed like drowning in muddy water. People talked about funeral decisions, contacting family, the police investigation, therapy, insurance but no sound was heard. Or at least Sam brain wasn’t processing anything accept the fact that Jess was not in the kitchen making a smoothie. Jess was not on the bed reading a book. Jess was not at the gym working out. Jess was lying in a wooden box like some sort of object to be put away after the world was done playing with her.   
Sam wasn’t sad not yet he hadn’t reached that stage of grief. The weekend with the random people and Dean coming and going checking on him every few hours had been denial. It was Monday now and Sam had finally accepted what had happened as reality and moved into the next Winchester stage of grief: rage.  
He had pulled open the scorched bed drawer so hard that it had popped out of its track. He snatched the two objects in the drawer. Slipping the knife into his waist band. He fingered the cold cut of the ruby fisting it in his palm so hard that it cut into his skin drawing blood.  
“I am going to make it pay.” He promised before tossing the precious stone onto the burnt remains of the bed as if it was some sort of demonic wishing well.  
Then he turned his back on Stanford, on normal.  
If anyone had returned to the ruined apartment they would have found the abandoned textbooks, pictures of a happy couple, and the nick-knacks of people who no longer exist. What they wouldn’t have found was engagement ring. No, a real estate agent had pick it up in a sweep of the abandon apartment. She flicked her long dark hair over her shoulder, deep brown eyes locked on the jewel before pocketing it. 

Dean smacked his lips together. Wiping the drool of his month with the back of his hand. He groaned as he stretched his long legs out onto the floor of his baby from where he had fallen asleep all six-one feet wedged into the front bench of the impala. Safe was what Dean felt when sleeping in the impala not comfortable.   
He rubbed his hand though his hair causing the locks to stick up like a hedgehog. The first rays of dawn were just causing the early morning dew to evaporate off the black paint. After what had happened Dean had starting sleeping in the impala because he didn’t think Sam would what to see the man that had led the supernatural to his girlfriend.  
While he was certain his brother never wanted to see him again, he had stuck around for a day or so to make sure his brother was going to be ok and that nothing would come back to finish the job by taking Sammy too. The wings squirmed under his coat just as stiff as his cramped legs and begging to be stretched but it was much too dangerous for them to be seen. Rolling his shoulders, he tried to move them as much as he could but it was like having an itch in the center of his back that he couldn’t scratch. He snatched the keys from his pocket. The metal clinked as he inserted them in the ignition.  
He couldn’t do anything more for Sam here. Staying would just completely sever any relationship that was left between him and Sam if there was anything left to destory. He was going to do his job and hunt the evil that had done this to his brother.  
The car was uncharacteristically silent as he drove away from Stanford. No classic rock was being blasted at full volume from the speakers. Dean drove with one hand and half his attention. The other arm resting on the open window and his mind miles away.  
“So do you have any leads or are you just driving into the sunrise?”  
Dean jumps so badly he nearly swerved baby into oncoming traffic. The orange honda leaned on the horn and the Impala pulled to the side of the rode Dean taking deep measured breaths forehead pressed to the steering wheel.. He had nearly just driven the two things he loved most into a head on collision.  
“#$@*!, Sam, What the $%#!@ are you doing? You can’t just pop up unannounced in the back seat” snarled Dean twisting to lean over the front seat to point a finger in Sam’s face heartbeat, surely audible.  
Sam jaw set, meeting his brother glare without the least bit of repentance. “What are you doing? Where you going to hunt this demon without me? Dean this is my kill.”  
Sam wanted to hunt? It was like one of those warnings about being careful what you wished for. Dean had often daydreamed about a life where his family was together and happily doing the family business. This was not what Dean wanted.   
Dean released the person in the back wasn’t the little brother he had raised. No, the person in the back was a grown man that Dean hadn’t seen in four years.   
“Get out of my car,” growled Dean voice low dangerous, eyes sparkling blue deep in their depths.  
Forcing open the driver door he clambered out biker bouts crunching on the road side gravel. He yanked open Sam’s door. The hinges protested with a creak as Dean used a little move strength than the engineer had planned on a human possessing. Sorry baby. Thought Dean as he tried to rain in his temper. He can’t afford to lose control now. Not ever again.   
He made a grab for Sam jacket sleeve to hall him out of the car but Sam had other ideas.  
The younger Winchester was towering over his brother as he slid out of the car under his own power. Sam brought both palms up planting them in the center of Dean’s chest and shoved, forcing his brother to stumble back.   
“Back the #$%!% off Dean. This is my fight.” He wasn’t sure why Dean didn’t want him coming along. Was it his over protectiveness? Or remaining anger on Sam walking out on their family? Either way it didn’t make a difference Sam Winchester was going hunting and good luck to anything that tried to stand in his way including his brother.  
“What? You thing you can stop hunting for four years and suddenly decide to start again? The things out there will chew you up and spit you out for breakfast. When was the last time you were on the shooting range? When was the last time you killed? I’m the hunter, Sam, I’m the one who’s killing to an art form. I’m the one with the body count in the triple digits. I’m the ones the monsters hide under their beds from. Go back to your apple pie life. I’ll bring you this demon’s head on a silver platter,” snarled Dean stance wide prepared to leave his younger brother on the side of the road if that would force in back to the normal and safeish life he had always wanted.  
The problem was that Sam was the master of the debate especially against his brother.   
“Dean, I not some helpless civilian,” spoke Sam hazel eyes flashing with inner fire “I’m rusty not clueless and obviously not hunting isn’t a guarantee of safety. Besides I am going to hunt down Jess’s killer. The only question is whether I am goiSg to do it with or without you.”  
A crack of distance thunder forced Dean to take a deep breath and release the fear that threatened his control. He knew his brother well enough that he knew Sam would go after the demon without him. Sam would be safer if Dean was there to try and protect him.   
Dean was not one to admit defeat. Stomping over he slid back into the driver seat gaze fixed forward on the road. He waited until the passenger door slammed before pulling out onto the highway with a growl from the Impala engine.   
The first break in the silence, a few hours later, was when Sam reached for the radio and quickly got his hand slapped.  
“Driver picks the music shotgun shuts his cake hole.”  
The classic rock blasted out from the speakers and Sam couldn’t help the feeling of home.  
“It's all the same  
Only the names will change  
Everyday  
It seems we're wastin' away  
Another place  
Where the faces are so cold  
I drive all night  
Just to get back home  
I'm a cowboy  
On a steel horse I ride  
I'm wanted  
Dead or alive”


	38. Apex Predator

If Sam had described his first day back in the family business in one word it would be awkward. This was not helped by Dean’s behavior which flipped flopped faster than a bipolar fish on dry land. One moment Dean was all “disassemble the pistol in 30 seconds or less or get your ass back to prissy Stanford” the next he was all “let’s throw peanut shells at Sam to seen how many he can nail him with before Sam explodes” then he was all mopey in the morning hogging the bathroom like a professional teenage princess being all like “it takes time Sammy to look this good.” By day two Sam was almost considering walking to the interview just so he wouldn’t have to listen to Dean “sing” highly off-key Whipping Post for the twenty time in a row. Sam had the sneaking suspicion that Dean was purposely singing off tune since no one could possibly be that bad. Sam had heard some of the notes before from a squirrel when rolled over turned out to be dead.  
“5 Hikers going missing in the woods, strange weather patterns, 100 miles out from Stanford, with a herd of mutilated cow deaths. Has demon activity written all over it.”  
“Doesn’t means it’s yellow eyes”  
“No, it doesn’t mean it is yellow eyes but it could be and the job, Sam, isn’t about revenge it about saving people.” Dean lifted an eyebrow daring Sam to challenge the statement. Sam shrugged as the Impala pulled to a stop in front of the trail head.  
If Dean was being honest his case was looking less and less likely to be a demon. Yes, cow mutilation were a classic sign of demonic wiles but the mutilation had taken place on a ranch that had back up to a national park. While it wasn’t entirely impossible for it to be a demon it was growing more unlikely. Demons tented to enjoy the hustle and bustle of a city. Or at least a small backward town. The wild of a national park held few opportunities for a bargain.  
Dean had his own categorizing system: The oopsy, booy and gooy. Needless to say, Sam had not approved. This hunt was looking to fall under the gooy category. The categories were scientifically related to the type of monster on the hunt. Booy referring to any ghost or specter or anything that would love to scare the shit out of Dean by hiding and jumping out at him and shouting a more explicit short of boo. Gooy was the more solid category. Werewolves, vampires, witches, shapeshifters, skinwalkers were all under this category. So named for the gooy state Dean’s weapons normally found themselves in after those hunts. The last category held demons and angels. So named because hunting those was in general a mistake Dean normally tried to avoid.   
A small crowd of three hikers waited at the trail head for the brothers.   
Dean hefted the duffel over his should. It was full of the essentials- hunting knife, extra ammo for his Glock, salt, spray paint, duct tape and snacks. His gun was probably his second most prized possession right after the picture of his mom and right before the cow boy hat he has hidden, from his brother, under the weapons case under the false bottom in the truck.  
The impala is not a thing!  
It is a part of him. It is part of the family ranking right under Sam.  
Sam gives a nod to the guide in his cacky hiking gear with his shot gun slung over his shoulder. The man doesn’t return the nod. A skinny lad probably a year or 3 younger than Sam shifts nervously from foot to foot standing as close to the woman as politely possible.  
The woman was taking inventory of the brothers, her gaze roaming from their steel toed boots and jeans to their flannel. She raised an eye brow at Dean as he approached.  
“ Rangers, really? You go hiking much in jeans and boots? This is a rescue not a camping trip.”  
“Well honey, I don’t do shorts.” Dean grinned giving her his best devilish wink before striding passed her into the forest forcing her to follow or be left behind.  
It didn’t take long for trouble to find the Winchesters after all they were looking for it. The shadows on the leaves had just started growing long when Sam spoke.  
“Do you hear that?” Sam stopped raising a hand to signal the group to silence. To his credit Dean was the first to respond, freezing as if he was carved from marble except his eye with darted between the trees.  
The birds had stopped singing, there was no rushel of leaves as small furred things passed through the underbrush, branches failed to whisper. Sam could feel the evil like a heater near his soul.   
“HELP!” The scream breaks the silence like an ice pick on a caulk board.   
That’s when one might say that all hell broke loose except Sam was pretty sure it wasn’t a demon. Their guide made dash towards the cry of help.   
“Wait don’t! It’s a trick!” warned Sam if he was certain of one thing it was the thing in the woods wasn’t the one who needed help. Dean being Dean would never let a civilian run head long into waiting jaws alone and was crashing madly through the underbrush to catch up with their guide.  
The brush to Dean’s left exploded and a humanoid blur lunged at Dean. There was fur, long, long nail that were bordering on the edge of claws and the limps were all too long as if someone had drawn and quartered the creature.   
“Wendigo!” Warned Sam but the warning came too late. The attack only lasted half a second. Too fast for the human brain. The wendigo smiled at its prey teeth like broken glass as it claws dug into the meat’s arm. The problem was that the wendigo had mistaken Dean as a wolf in sheep’s clothing not a tiger in a wolf’s pelt. Dean grinned back and snapped the wendigo wrist with inhuman strength and speed. The wendigo released the hunter with a screech and dove back into the underbrush but not before a stray claw tore through their guide throat with a spray of crimson.   
Chaos in sued.  
“Dean!” cried Sam fear forcing him to man handle his brother looking for fatal wounds.  
“Get off,” snapped Dean in annoyance.  
The girl dropped to her knees next to their dead guides body her face nearly as pale as the corpse and shaking as she checked for signs of life.  
Her brother was having a meltdown.  
“What was that? Why are we just standing here! We have to get out of the woods!” Tear dripped down his cheeks as he blubbered.   
“We need to get these people out of here,” said Dean ignoring the civilians and eyeing the woods suspiciously. If he were alone this would be much simpler. Like the majority of supernatural critters wendigo take ridiculously specific conditions to kill. You have to barbeque those suckers. Like who wants to carry around a flamethrower everywhere? Those things are so freakan massive and heavy. Well…it might be worth it someday they were kinda cool. The wendigo would come for him and when it did he would rip it apart. The way Dean saw it he might not be able to kill the wendigo but if it were in small enough pieces it wouldn’t be a problem if it was still alive. See hunting is all about knowing one’s place on the food chain. Being an apex predator made one rather good at it. Oh he was sure it would get some good hits in but he would just take a nap before heading back to Sam. Supernatural healing really had its perks. Maybe he could convince Sam to stay with the civilian.   
Yeah like that was likely to happen.   
“Its almost dark,” Sam replied eyes tracing the dimming sky between the canopy of oak and maple leaves. “That was a wendigo. It thinks human flesh is a delicacy. It a good hunter in the day but it is even better at night.”  
“Sam!” hissed Dean. Had his brother been out of the job so long that he forgot the number one rule? Don’t tell the civilians. Sam just gave him a glare before continuing.  
“I’m going to draw symbols around the clearing they’ll protect us as long as you remain inside them. You guys should gather as much dried wood for fire as you can before it gets any darker.”  
Sam ignored Dean’s anger maybe if the hunter population educated people as a whole they would prepare better and innocents like Jess and Mom would still be alive.  
“Wendgio? Human flesh eaters? Protective symbols. Do you even hear yourselves?” said the sister backing away from the brothers  
“Complete fruitloops!” agreed the young kid.  
Then they did what any sane person would do when their guide had been murdered in a forest and two strangers start talking about cult symbols and monsters. They run in the opposite direction. Unfortunately for them insanity might have saved them.  
“Furitloops?” frowned Dean completely offended “Couldn’t you just calls us nuts it’s a bit less girly.”  
“Dean!” snapped Sam calling his brother back to the chase.

Dean’s night just keeps getting better – he now hung like a cow for the slaughter wrist burning from supporting his entire body weight above his head. Well this is embarrassing second hunt with Sam back and Dean the damsel in destress. He in some sort of old mining tunnel. Rough wooden supports holding back tones of crushing dirt line the tunnel walls. The girl is hanging out of reach a few feet away unconscious. The air is still and rancid it smells like somethings died and on closer inspection it looks like wendigo leftover are being stored for later. Dean’s just grateful he wasn’t knocked unconscious which would have added freaken wings to his list of problems but it would have been nice to have his weird healing factor fix the broken rib. Oh well can’t have it all.  
OK step one: wiggle. Using all his weight he kicked his feet forward yacking down with his hands on the ropes.  
“grrrrr.” Well that hurt.  
Don’t black out. Don’t black out. He blinked hard as the tunnels went fuzzy around the edges. Dean could almost visualize: the please wait while video quality resumes.   
A humanoid blob materialized from the shadows approaching the stunned hunter. It was huge, hairy and it was reaching for Dean face with one massive paw.  
“Hey,” Something slapped his cheek gently. “Hey Dean.” Well, the wendigo English was quite good. Something nudged his other cheek and he blinked his eyes open again with some effort. “Thank heaven you’re alive. Common man. Focus Dean. I’m gonna get you out of here but I need to make sure you’re ok.”  
Well that’s rather girlly to be a wendigo must be Sam.


	39. Delicious

The pressure around his wrist loosened and then disappeared as Sam made short work of the rope with his knife.  
“I’mm Fin ee” reassured Dean as he made a nose dive to the floor.  
“Whoa Dean,” Suddenly a supporting arm was grabbing him around his back and under his arm. Worried Sam studied his brother. One pupil was diffidently bigger than the other. Concussion. Great.   
Sam propped Dean against the tunnel wall so he could help the kid with getting his sister down.  
The sound of a knife on a chalk board- or that of claws on rock filled the small tunnel.  
“It’s coming back,” hissed the boy eyes wide as Sam handed him most of the weight of his sister.  
Arms trembling from the exertion Dean used the wall to force himself to his feet. Innocents were in danger he couldn’t be sleeping on the job.   
“Hey fudgly!” challenged Dean drawing the wendigo attention.   
“Get them to safety Sam,” ordered Dean.  
“What about you?”   
“I’ll be fine. Now get them to safety!” Finding his feet, he rushed between the monster and the others were the tunnel split.  
“Come and get it! I’m delicious!”  
It was like being chased by a charging rhino. If he had been completely human he had no doubt it would have been a very short chase. As it was, he was just grateful he lasted the five minutes it took to draw the beast down a sperate tunnel away from Sam and the others.  
It was dark and the wendigo was just a slightly darker shape. Apparently, night vision was not one of his powers. Come on lightning! Now would be a really great time to catch something on fire with a random lightning strike. But whether it was a result of lack of practice or being under ground and cut off from the sky, Dean had about as much voltage as a flashlight.  
A meaty backhand tossed the hunter against the wall with a crack.  
Coming back to his senses just in time to throw a forearm up to protect his jugular from wicked teeth. Gritting his own against the chuck being taken out of his arm. He reached up with his other hand getting a grip on the furred neck of the wendigo. With a grunt of effort, he twisted snapping the spine. The wendigo claws flash across the right side of Dean’s face. He was just fast enough to avoid losing an eye and just the tips graze his face. Shit! These things only die by fire! Well it was worth a shot. He keeps twisting and with a wet plop the still snashing head plops to the dirt floor.   
Headless the body continues its attack but with its head on the floor it had a bad cause of depth perception. The claws slash at the wall harmlessly next to Dean head and the wendigo growls in frustration.   
“Key to a successful diet is portion control and it looks like you just lost ten pounds.” Quips Dean.  
“Dean.” Sam comes skidding around the corner shot gun in one hand. Expression half way between a classic bitch face at Dean’s inappropriate humor and fear for his blenderized brother.  
“Dean!” the second shout is a warning but it too late. Dean spins. The second wendigo that pushes aside the body of its mate intent on revenge. Shit! Thinks Dean there was no way out of this that didn’t wind up with Sam asking how Dean healed from a fatal wound. Dean could see it now. Gutted bleeding on the floor. Sam calling 911. Dean passing out and coming back and claiming the miracle of power naps. If the wendigo didn’t just kill Sam as well.  
That’s when the wendigo decided to do an incredible impression of a bonfire.   
Dean just stared in shock. Then glancing at Sam to see if his genius little brother had somehow managed to convert his shotgun in to a flaregun but Sam’s raised hands are empty. Dean wild gaze swing back to the flames that use to be a wendigo it has somehow spread. The hungry flames bite at its mate although they aren’t close to touching. Examining the tunnel for hidden traps like those in Raiders of the lost Arc. That would be pretty cool but there is just grey uninteresting rock to overdone cannibals and his not so little brother with both arms raised fingers flickering with flames and an expression like he had just been caught using Dean’s toothbrush.  
Dean did the logical thing he dove at Sam ignoring the pain of shrugging out of his jacket to pat out the flames. But Sam isn’t quite at the level of freaking out that is required for the current situation. He clutches his flaming fists and the fire dies.  
“So Dean there been something I been wanting to tell you.” Fidgeting on his feet like he had just admitted to his brother that he finished the last piece of a pie not that he had just shattered Dean’s moral compass.  
Dean was frozen. Face an emotionless mask like the frozen surface of deep lake. When Dean failed to speak Sam broke the awkward silence.  
“It kind of useful.” Sam made a halfhearted gesture toward the burning corpse of the wendigo. He was angry at himself for tracking Dean’s hands and position of his hunting knife. This was Dean he was talking about. He had saved Sam life countless times. Surely finding out that Sam wasn’t as human as he thought wouldn’t make him a monster in his brother eyes. This was the brother who had taken care of him when he was sick. The brother who had helped him learn to read. The brother who had flung himself in front of angry spirit to knock Sam to safety. “It sure will make salt and burns a lot easier.” Would Dean place the blame for Mom and Jess on Sam? Did he think Sam was responsibly for their train wreck lives?  
Dean finally took a step toward Sam and then past him muttering a quick  
“Come on.”   
Sam followed Dean, waiting for the volcano to erupt.  
They got the traumatize people out but everyone keeps a wide berth from Dean who is limping and covered in grim and blood but the look on his face promises murder. On top of it all the weather matches Dean’s mood. It is pouring, thunder rumbles in the distance, and Sam boots are no protection from the knee deep mud puddle he accidently steps in and nearly loses a shoe. Two hours of one sided conversation from Sam later the civilians were drop off where they could contact an ambulance and the brothers were back at the motel. Without as much as a glance in Sam’s direction Dean had stalked out on Sam.  
Was Dean coming back? Sam was the one who leaves. Dean was always there when his family needed him. But did he still think as Sam as family now? There was a first time for everything. Sam sat on the end of the motel bed staring holes in the peeling white paint of the motel door. Fingers running over Dean’s speed dial.  
But Sam wasn’t going to apologize for something he had no choice over. This was the way he was. Dean would just have to accept that. Wouldn’t he?  
The roar of the impala announces Dean’s return. Relief at Dean returned flooded Sam for a split second before he tensed again. Tore between tackling Dean in a hug and ducking for cover if Dean had returned not for family but for the family business.   
It turned out that ducking was the better option when Dean chucked something at Sam’s head when he entered.   
Horror, betrayal fell to confusion when Dean’s weapon of choice bounced off Sam forehead with a thwack. As weapons go the bag of puffy fat marshmallows was fairly ineffective. Sam lifted his gaze to Dean’s who just raised an eyebrow at Sam poor reflexes.  
“A jedi you are not. Now make yourself useful,” commented Dean gesturing at the bag on the floor in front of Sam with the box of gram cracker and cholate in his hands. Smores a typically Dean approved use of fire power.  
Sam picked up the bag of sugary goodness seeing it as the white flag of acceptance it was meant as and grinned.  
Was Dean freaking out at the paradox Sam had presented him with? Yes. But if there was one certainty in Dean’s messed up life it was that he would protect Sam with his life and that no amount inhuman taint could stop Dean from caring for his little brother. And instant smores were never a bad thing.


	40. Haunted

It was the white cloth billowing in the wind that initial captured Sam’s eye from the passenger seat of the classic car. Bond hair whipping in the wind, dead eyes freezing Sam’s lungs. He twisted in the leather seat to keep her in sight as they turn the corner but the woman melted from view. Three precious second pass before Sam has the oxygen to speak.  
“Stop the car.” Sam’s voice is barely above a whisper.  
“What?” Dean questions considering his brother. “you look like you seen a ghost dude.” Dean chuckles. “You think you would be use to that my now,”  
Needless to say, Sam is less than amuse at Dean’s humor. However, he knows his brother well enough to know the fasted way to get Dean to pull over.   
“I’m gonna be sick.”  
The impala immediately jerks to the curb, the seat belts tug against their occupants.   
“Not on the upholstery you aren’t.”  
Once Sam out there isn’t a pause. He off like an Olympic sprinter but there is no trace of the woman. The hunter part of his brain is running through all the possible objects in the car she could be tied too since digging up Jess’s body isn’t an option. It wouldn’t be bones but the body of his girlfriend. The thought makes him as sick he had told his brother. The human part of his brain asks the dangerous question. Jess could never hurt anyone not even a ghost Jess so would it be so bad to keep the object? It is this thought process that runs through Sam’s mind when he turns to answer Dean’s question of what the hell is going on.   
Dean’s gone from slightly annoyed to slightly frantic over Sam’s odd behavior. Actually, when Sam took off out of the impala Dean had had a mind heart attack when his nightmares of abandonment were unfolding.  
“Nothing, it is nothing. Thought I saw something. I was wrong.”  
Sam turns to head back to the impala. Dean wasn’t born yesterday but shoppers on the little strip mall sidewalks are starting to stare and well Sam is the talkative one. If Sam is safe in the Impala that is all that really matters.   
Later that night in yet another dirty motel this one with a jellyfish theme which really doesn’t fit continental US location Sam wakes to the sound of the shower running. Sam inwardly curses Dean’s early morning bathroom hogging habits, but come on, this is getting ridiculous. He rolls over to see the didgital clock flashing a crisp 12:04 between the twin beds. He also takes note of the gentle rise of Dean’s shoulders hugging the pillow in the opposite bed- fast asleep.   
If Dean’s sleeping who’s in the bathroom?  
Sam bolts out of bed hand slipping around his Glock. The night floor is ice against his bare feet. The bathroom light is on but the door is unlocked. Heart in his throat and unsure why he hasn’t woken Dean he forces his way onto the bathroom.  
It’s empty.  
The shower is dry. Not drop of water of water to be seen. Sam has nearly convinced himself he has a imagined the sound of the shower and heads back to the warmth of his covers.   
“De…” starts Sam at the silhouette of the figure standing over his brother bed but the figure is wrong it’s too short and the hourglass shape marks the figure as clearly not his brother who is fast asleep unaware that his own hunting knife is floating inches from his jugular.   
“Jess,” the whisper is companied with a small cloud in the icy air. A delicate and transparent finger is raised to her lips.   
“murders. You stole my life!” she hissed. All Sam’s fighting skills went the way of his heart as his soul mate leapt at him with his brother hunting knife.  
“Jess its me!”  
Somewhere in the background came the thud of Dean falling out of his bed in surprise.  
“Your nothing to me but my murderer! I’m not your girlfriend your nothing to me.” The ghost shrieked. Dean managed to struggle to his feet just in time in time for the ghost to hurl him into the far wall.  
That is when the motel door decided to implode inward. What now thought Sam.   
“Burn bitch,” snarled the drop dead gorgeous brunette as she depressed the flame thrower trigger and lit up Sam suitcase.   
The women is dressed in black leather that make her look like part of the shadows, a red leather jacket hugs her thin frame. With the dim lighting and the distance it is hard to tell if her dark eyes match her clothes.  
There isn’t much that can leave the Winchester brother speechless but apparent a ghostly girlfriend being barbequed by a badass chick in the middle of the night in there hotel room is one of those things.  
Jess’s ghost is gone and it feels like she has taken a piece of Sam with her.   
“Come on Sam. We got to get out of here before the police are called,” she called grapping hold of Sam wrist with surprising strength and heaving him to his feet. Sam is sure he had never seen this woman before in his life.  
The moment the stranger reached for Sam, Dean is snapped out of his shock. He rises his Glock in a steady grip.   
“Back off,” he growls managing to look all the world like an angry bear that had just been woken from his slumber with his blanket still bunched around his shoulder like a cape and his hair even more spiky than usual from being smushed against the pillow.  
The woman just rolls her eyes at the eldest Winchester not looking the least bit concerned about the firearm pointed at her head.   
“It’s like you never seen a female hunter before boys?”  
But what Dean is seeing isn’t a female hunter it not even on this plane of existence not that he knows that. It’s an angry cloud of black smoke and it makes his skin crawl.  
“extus ombius spritus…” he growls out the opening lines to the exorcism.  
“OK, fine you caught me,” the demons eyes flick midnight for a half second. “But I just saved your asses doesn’t that mean I can get a half second to explain myself. I am here to help after all.” Dean just glowers.  
“Omtius-” and continues with the exorcism.   
“Sam. That thing wasn’t your girlfriend because she is still alive and I know where she is.” The words are rushed pleading. “But I can only help you find her if you stop your pig-headed brother.” There is a long moment of silence from Sam while Dean chants.  
“Dean stop,” Sam says.  
“Demon’s lie. That what they do.” Growls Dean never taking his eyes from the woman. While he would never say it to Dean’s face if Sam had to pick which one looked least human at the moment it wouldn’t be the demon.   
“They also tell the truth if it will hurt more,” replies Sam. There is a high probability that Dean is right that this demon is lying but Sam can’t take the chance that she isn’t, and the demon knows it. Dean snarls but doesn’t continue the exorcism.  
A few minutes later the trio is in the Impala moving away from the sound of sirens the brothers in the front with a demon in the back.   
“If we’re going to be going on a road trip together I should properly introduce myself. The name’s Ruby,” she says as she lounges in the back seat.  
Green eyes glare at her through the rear-view mirror.  
“I think I will stick with your middle name ok, Freak? And if you don’t like it there is always room in the truck.”  
“Aww. I’m wounded. How would you like it if I called you by your middle name? Dean Michael Winchester.”  
Well, one thing things for sure, thought Sam with a sigh. This is going to be a long trip.


	41. The Truth Hurts More

“Real mature,” complained Ruby rolling her dark eyes up at the piece of printer paper with the precisely etched devils trap. “What’s with the paper craft? Final taking your motel room deposit seriously or hoping Sam will be so proud he will hang it on the minifridge when he gets back?”   
Dean smirked at her in answer as he reached above her head plucking the paper from the ceiling and forcing the demon to walk under the paper like some weird umbrella.  
“You have got to be kidding me,” snapped Ruby.  
“I am awesome.”  
“You’re an a**!”   
“And until you learn manners you are going in the closet.”   
“When Sam returns, he will let me out.”  
“Who do you think is in charge here? I’m the older brother.”  
She just raised delicate black eyebrow. “And what do you think happens when your dear baby brother finds out his big brother has 6 limbs?” Dean’s glower went from green to electric blue as he took a step into Ruby’s personal space. The demon took a tiny step back until she was pushed up against the edge of the devil’s trap.   
“How do you know?” growled Dean lips pulled back in a snarl.  
“Easy their tiger.” She placed her hands up in surrender “Demon remember? You smell of sugar and spice and everything nice and its horrid. Although with that temper you are starting to smell like ozone.”  
Dean had a knife at her throat faster than the eye could follow, at least a human eye. “How do we even know you know anything about Jessica? Demon’s lie it’s what they do.”  
“Unless the truth hurts more.” Slowly deliberately she slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out a ring inset with glinting blood stones. “I took my name from the rubies in this ring.  
“So? Diamonds aren’t always a girl’s best friend when the girls a B%$*h.”  
“This is my engagement ring. Well it would have been my engagement ring if Sam had been brave enough to pop the question before that ^%$!% Crowley decided that I was meddling too much and set my vessel on fire.”  
“You’re lying.”   
Ruby shrugged. “It’s true. I can’t prove it to you but it is the truth. Of course, Jessica was the name of the vessel I took but by the time Sam first met Jessica she was already possessed. Sam was never in love with Jessica. He was in love with me.”  
“My brother could never love a demon.” She gave him a pointed once over.  
“Demon blood runs in your brother’s veins. He’ll warm up to the idea of a demonic girl-friend.” Her eyes bleed black a wicked gleam perked her lips into a cruel smile as Dean’s face paled.  
“I’ll be his queen when he takes his throne.” Dean snorted and started heading for the closet again.  
“You had me there for a second but my brother on a throne? A throne of what? ‘Nerdom’? You’re not just evil you’re nuts. Why tell me your ‘evil’ plan. This could only go two ways. One I believe you and kill you two I don’t and I kill you anyway.”  
“First of all, if you kill me Sam will never forgive you for destroying even the dim possibility of me being able to help him find his Jessica. Second, you won’t be around much longer to be a problem.”  
The sound of feather rustling air was the only warning before a raven-haired man in a tan trench-coat and blue tie appear in front of Dean, hand outstretch to lay two fingers in the middle of the hunter’s forehead. The newcomer had his opposite hand wrapped around the shoulder of an unconscious Sam. Dean went cross eyed for a moment trying to focus on the fingers, before his eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed.  
“Hold up your end of the bargain, angel. I gave you the location of your Winchester. Give me Sam Winchester so the great plan can be finished.” Warned Ruby from her potion on her printer paper prison.   
“No, Sam Winchester is an atrocity that must be destroyed. I have already made a deal with one of your kind I will not lower myself further. Your reward will be your life.”   
Ruby gave an inhuman scream of rage as Castiel clamped a hand around Dean’s shoulder, vanishing with the Winchesters.


	42. Nephilim

Dean nearly bashed his head into the floor when he woke with sneeze from the settled dust. He attempted to raise his hand to rub away the grit in his eyes but his arms had been immobilized by a thick rope to a rough wooden support beam in the old barn. On the plus side he wasn’t in any pain. On the minus side he had no idea of his location, what he was up against or if Sam was safe. A groan came from beside Dean answering at least one of his questions.  
“Sam!” called Dean “Are you alright?” The younger Winchester was awake and seemed unharmed but was also hogged tied to the adjacent support beam.  
“Fine. Did the tax account get the drop on you too? Is Ruby ok?”  
Dean didn’t get the chance to give his new opinion of Ruby to his brother which is a good thing because it wasn’t PG-13 before the old barn doors exploded inward to reveal their abductor.   
“You choose the wrong family to mess with,” spat Dean with a yank of inhuman strength strong enough to snap the two inch think rope but delicate enough not to splitter the support beam he rose to his feet crossing between the threat and his family. Hoping beyond hope that Sam would just assume that Dean’s bonds had been defective.  
“What are you?” asked Dean arms out strength in front palms open and down as if he was trying to appease a wild animal, stance wide and protective of his brother. The light in the old barn was dim only lit by the old flickering naked bulbs that hung in the rafters. Raven wings spread like midnight shadows and the remaining bulb exploded with the serge of power. Cold blue eyes stared through Dean at the younger Winchester.  
“I am an angel of the lord.” Castiel strode up to Dean until they were nose to nose. Dean swallowed hard. Angels were in the ‘nope’ category. He needed to get Sam and get out of here now. “It is my assignment to protect you.”   
Dean cursed his smart aleck nature but he couldn’t stop his mouth. “Well, you have been doing a great job these last few years,” snarked Dean. Sarcasm on a hundred. The smirk was wiped off his face with a glacier look from the angel.  
“You should show me some respect boy. Your life would have long seen creased if I had not spent the last two decade thwarting the forces of darkness and your own incompetents. You have not made my assignment simple. It was all I could do to keep you alive.” Dean took an involuntary step back from the angel and Castiel drop his gaze to the floor.  
“You have my sincere apology for the horror inflected on you by your tormentors. While I was able to thwart many plots from a distance. Evil is powerful and wily and they cut me off from you. They damaged you.” Dean squirmed has the angel’s clear blue gaze flicked back to Dean’s shoulders and the obvious lack of feathers.  
“I have failed you and I will seek redemption but first I will destroy the abomination that has done this too you.” Blue eyes locked on hazel causing Sam to flinch back for the first time in his life like he had been burned. Castiel attempted to shoulder passed Dean to get to Sam. Like that was going to happen.   
Strong fingers latched around Castiel bicep forcing him to stop his advance.  
“Whoa there. There seems to be a mistake that is my brother. Not an abomination. So back off.” Dean’s voice was light with humor like he was telling Sam off about reaching for the last piece of apple pie but his green gaze was steel. “And if you touch him, I’ll freaken fry your wings extra crispy.” Castiel glanced down at the grip on his sleeve as if a fly had landed on him. He could feel the remains of the snapped guardian bond within the Nephilim. He angel’s hand flew up and with two fingers to his charges forehead he thought: sleep.   
Trench coat swirling around him as he turned sharply to continue his advance on Sam as Dean collapsed to the floor, eye closed, behind him.  
“Dean!” screamed Sam rushing for his brother only to be stopped by the angel. “I thought the angels were supposed to be the good guys!” snarled Sam.  
“He is merely sleeping. It is you who have mutilated your own sibling. You who are the abhorrent creature.”  
Mutilate Dean? What was the angel talking about? And maybe he wasn’t 100% human. Maybe his powers were demonic. But he had always believed that his powers like any weapon were a tool and it was what he choose to do with them that defined them as good or evil. And if they helped him rescue his brother then they were 100% good.  
“Step away from my brother,” spat Sam’s eyes igniting red flames licking their way down his forearms before dripping to the floor boards leaving blackened scorch marks in their wake. Sam raised his fist towards the angel clenching it at chest height. A vortex of flames encircled the trenchcoated figure.   
After a moment Sam let the hungry flames die.   
Disbelief and dismay unfurled in Sam’s gut as the black wings did likewise from their protective shield around the angel. Castiel glared. Reaching up he ripped the rags of the scortched trench coat off leaving him in the tailor suit underneath.   
Shit. Thought Sam as Castiel fist latched around Sam neck constricting his airway. The angel’s eyes burned with inner blue fire.  
“You think you are a match for me boy? You are still a child. I am centuries old.”  
The world was turning gray around the edges. Of all the things that Sam thought he would die from. Demon, vampire, werewolf, ghost, Dean’s driving, Dean’s cooking, an angel had never been on that list. Isn’t life full of surprises?   
“Hey fugly. I thought I told you to freaken leave my brother alone!”   
Dean! Thought Sam. As something tore the angel off Sam. The angel was toss unceremoniously across the floor bounce once wing squishing underneath him like some oversize feather duster.   
“You know you really shouldn’t have knocked me out,” growled Dean deep and dangerous. He took to lazy steps toward the fallen angel flexing his arms out at the elbows in a lazy show of absolute lack of fear. Of course, Sam was too busy wondering if Castiel had killed both him and Dean and if he was now in a wacky heaven where Dean could get his revenge on the angel and also had big white fluffy feathery wings with blue racing stripes because Dean and fluffy simple didn’t work well in the same sentence.   
The green had leeched out of Dean eyes replaced with a royal blue.  
“What your kind doesn’t get fugly is that we are the ones you should be afraid of. We are the things that the monster’s hind from.” Dean gestured at the single window. Dark clouds blackened the once bright sky.  
“Where were we? Oh yes. Your trick with the light bulbs was cute. One order of extra crispy wings right up.”  
With a snap of his fingers the window imploded. Lighting shook the barn. Shards of glass embedded themself in dark feathers. The blade was at Castiel’s throat impossible fast. White feathers mixing with black as if they were simply a shadow. But the electric blue had faded from the older Winchester’s eyes. Emeralds blinked. A distant memory of falling, and a mix of white and black feathers, and safety working its way to the forefront of Dean’s mind. The pressure on the steel loosened and the knife dropped to the hunter’s side.  
“If you come after my brother again, I’ll gut you.” Then Dean Winchester turned and stalked away.   
Dean didn’t meet Sam gaze as he grabbed him under the upper arm and hauled him to his feet.  
“Come on Sammy, we are getting out of this dump”  
“Dean,” Sam started his gaze fixed on the feathers that surrounded him like a protective down blanket.   
“Don’t. Sammy.” Dean’s voice broke.


	43. The Unnatural

At first Sam thought he might have gone into shock but when the wings were still visible when they finally made it back to their little motel room and Dean had to kind of pull them in and go sideways to fit through the motel doorframe Sam was fairly certain that he wasn’t the only Winchester that wasn’t entirely human.  
It was Dean’s own reaction that had solidified that it wasn’t just some new curse. There was no surprise, no freaking out, no chicken jokes. If it was a curse Dean could deal. Kill the fudgy that caused it and break the curse. It would just be another Tuesday in the Winchester’s life. It was the way Dean wouldn’t meet his gaze as he bundled Sam into the impala.   
Shame. It wasn’t an emotion Sam was used to seeing on his brother. It wasn’t a good look either. It told Sam that whatever Dean was, it wasn’t temporary, or recent.  
Now, Sam watched, as Dean finished drawing warding on the door and tossing the sharpie on the bed with unnecessary force before attacking Sam with the first aid kit.  
“Dean, it just bruises,” snapped Sam warding of Dean searching hands. “Can we talk about… When were you going to tell me? That you’re…” Sam gestured lamely in Dean’s direction. Due to Dean reaction to the wings Sam was assuming he had had them for a while but when had it happened? While Sam was at Stanford? Had Dean been born with them? It would actually make some weird kind of sense if they had both been born with mutation because at least then it could be blamed on genetics. In some messed up way it was a huge relief to know that Dean understood not being completely human. But then again how had Sam not noticed the wings before? They were kind of hard to miss. With the exception of Dean’s oversized leather jacket would be impossible to hide under the t-shirt he had seen his brother wearing.   
Dean on the other hand was trying to not have a panic attack. !*&@. Sam knows. Sam knows how much of a freak I am. He already left once now he’s really gonna want to bail. Forever this time. And it will just be me: alone. Forever… So Dean’s fear manifested in a very Dean way: Anger.  
“What were we suppose to do? Braid each other’s hair and talk about crushes and the fact that I am a complete freak? It doesn’t come up in normal conversation. Hey how school? And oh I am a monster who molts on occasion.”  
Sam physically stepped back as if Dean had burned him. It was the wrong response as Dean quickly drew back wings drooping to the ground.  
“I’m not that kind of monster Sam. I would never hurt you. I know how to handle it.” Dean pulled his hunting blade from his boot. “Same way I solve every problem.”  
Sam was more confused than ever; for about five seconds. What did Dean plan to do with the blade? Because if there was one thing Sam believed was Dean would never hurt him on purpose.   
Dean roughly grab a fist full of feather and pulled the right wing taught. Swinging the blade in a wicked arc-Sam knew. The image of horrible white scars on his brother’s back as he laid limp in Sam Stanford apartment flashed before his eyes in horrifying clarity.   
Sam didn’t have a choice. In one way it was the clash of heaven and hell in another it was two sibling wrestling on the floor. The world is as dramatic as the observer. Sam used his greater size to crush Dean arm to the floor prying his fingers away from the knife. Not an easy task.   
Sam had gradually realized through small things like easily bench pressing the max at the gym, nearly breaking a guy’s arm who had challenged him to arm wrestle, that he was slightly stronger than a natural human male. But when it took both hands to trap his brother’s arm against the floor. It suddenly became clear why the Winchester brothers made such great hunters. They had a bit of an advantage.   
“Get off,” growled Dean grunting with the strain.   
“Drop the knife,” hissed Sam. Sam felt the cool steel in his palm and nearly crowed in success but paid for it when a wing bone whiplashed him across the face in the tangle of limps. His face was going to be interesting colors later.  
The brother broke apart glaring at one another and dusting themselves off to try and gain some semblances of dignity. The angel’s accusations of mutilation suddenly made Sam a shallow hard. Dean had such a hard line drawn in the sand of good and evil, human and nonhuman. It was only now that Sam new which side Dean had placed himself on. Like Dean, Sam believed in right and wrong good and evil they were absolutes not in the opinion of the beholder. However, Sam also believed that line was not a arrow’s path but had more in common with a bowl of spaghetti.   
“So this is how you solve your problem you cut off a piece of yourself? Its sick,” growled Sam anger flashing bright. How could his brother do that to himself? A sudden thought of how to stop the behavior sprung forth. His brother was the perfect solider. “You think dad would have wanted this for you?” Dean’s next words nearly broke Sam. Green eyes locked on the wall as if he was seeing a ghost.  
“Who do you think came up with this idea for me to fit in?”  
Sam stomach acid burned the back of his throat as he fought for control. Hazing memories of locked bathroom doors, yelling and crying breaking through. It made sense and his hatred of their father doubled. If John Winchester ever crossed path with his youngest one of them would not walk away.  
“Well dad’s SOB,” snapped Sam. Dean looked like he wanted to protest but was cut off by the crunch of the knife imbedding in the brick wall to the left over the bed frame. It burst in to flame around the hilt fueled by Sam’s rage. “And you’re not a monster. You’re the best hunter I know. You save lives.”  
“I’m not human Sam.” The pain in Dean voice made Sam hate their father more. The green had become mirror pools and Dean rubbed at his face to try and hide the emotion. Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes and took a step toward his brother.  
“Dean are you planning on hunting me?”   
Dean frowned confused at the question. Of course not? why would Sam thing he would hunt him?  
“No.”  
“Because in case you haven’t noticed. I’m not exactly bating a thousand for normal.” Hazel eyes blinked red for a split second.  
“We aren’t human. But you aren’t a monster either. You’re my brother.” Sam pulled Dean into a hug and since Dean didn’t immediate try to strangle him for the chick flick moment he knew Dean accepted the comfort.   
Dean blinked back the tears. It seemed silly now but it had haunted him worse than any ghost for so many years that Sam would take one look and flee. Sammy his little brother. The child he had raised could never be a monster. And if Sam wasn’t human and wasn’t a monster maybe Dean could be too. Sam had made his point.


End file.
